




J 



THE END OF 
THE RAINBOW 







^THE END OF 
THE RAINBOW 


MARIAN KEITH^- 

Author of “ ^Lizheth of the Dale^** 

** Treasure Valley ** Duncan Dolitet' etc. 




HODDER & STOUGHTON 
NEW YORK 

GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 






Copyright, 1913 

By Geokge H. Doran Company 



301913 


© 



CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

I. 

The Gleam 

PAGE 

II. 

“ The Greatest of the Three ” . 

. 31 

III. 

Life’s Young Mariner 

. 50 

IV. 

Side Lights 

. 78 

V. 

Following the Gleam 

. 90 

VI. 

Launching His Vessel 

. lia 

VII. 

‘‘ Moving to Melody ”... 

. 133 

VIII. 

“ Floated the Gleam ”... 

. 149 

IX. 

“ Deaf to the Melody ”... 

. 190 

X. 

‘‘ The Light Retreated ” 

. 216 

XI. 

The Landskip Darken’d ” . 

. 228 

XII. 

“ The Melody Deaden’d ” 

. 255 

XIII. 

“ The Master "Whispered ” . 

. 296 

XIV. 

“ Follow the Gleam ” ... 

. 320 



THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


CHAPTER I 

THE GLEAM 

A ll afternoon the little town had lain dozing 
under the lullaby of a June rain. It was 
not so much a rain as a gentle dewy mist, 
touching the lawns and gardens and the maple trees 
that lined each street into more vivid green, and lay- 
ing a thick moist carpet over the dust of the high- 
ways. And the little town, ringed by forest and 
lake, and canopied by maple boughs, had lain there 
enjoying it, now blinking half-awake in the brief 
glimpses of sunlight, now curling up again and go- 
ing to sleep. 

In the late afternoon the silent tournament be- 
tween sunshine and shadow resulted in a conquest for 
the sun. His victorious lances swept the enemy from 
the clean blue skies; they glanced over the lake, 
lodged in every treetop, and glittered from every 
church spire. The little town began to stir. The 
yellow dogs, that had slept all afternoon on the 
shop steps, roused themselves and resumed their figlit 
in the middle of Main Street. Now and then a clerk 
7 


8 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


ran across to a rival firm to get change for a cus- 
tomer. A few belated shoppers hurried homeward. 
A farmer’s double-buggy backed out of the hotel yard 
with a scraping sound, and went rattling up the 
street towards the country. Everything seemed per- 
vaded with an atmosphere of expectancy, a tense air 
of unrest, as though the whole place were holding, it- 
self in readiness for a summons. 

And then it came: the great consummation of the 
day’s work. From the tower of the fire-hall burst 
forth the loud peal of the town bell. Six o’clock! 
Like the castle of the Sleeping Beauty the town 
leaped into life. The whistles of the saw-mills down 
by the lake broke into shrieks of joy. The big 
steam pipe of Thornton’s foundry responded with a 
delighted roar. The flour mill, the wheel-factory 
and the tannery joined in a chorus of yells. From 
factory and shop, office and store, came pouring 
forth the relieved workers, laughing and calling 
across the street to each other above the din. There 
was a noisy tramp, tramp of feet, a hurrying this 
way and that, a confusion of happy voices. And over 
all the clamour, the big bell in the tower continued 
to fling out far over the town and the lake and the 
woods the joyous refrain that the day’s work was 
done, was done, was done. 

Near the corner of Main Street, on a leafy thor- 
oughfare that ran up into the region of lawns and 
gardens, stood a neat row of red-brick office build- 
ings, with wide doors and shiny windows. Over the 


THE GLEAM 


9 


widest door and on the shiniest window, in letters of 
gold, was the legend : EDWARD BRIANS, Barrister, 
etc. 

Never a man passed this door on his homeward 
way without saluting it. 

“Hello, Ed! Coming home.?” — “Hurrah, Ed! 
Will you be along if we wait ten minutes ? ” — “ Ed ! 
Hurry up and come along ! ” 

No one appeared in response to the summons ; but 
from within came refusals, roared out in a thunderous 
voice, each roar growing more exasperated than the 
last. 

The streets were almost deserted when, at last, the 
owner of the big voice came to his door. He was a 
man of about thirty-five; of middle height, straight, 
strong and alert. His fair hair had a tendency to- 
wards red, and also towards standing on end, and 
his bright blue eyes had a tendency to blaze suddenly 
in wrath or shut up altogether in consuming laugh- 
ter. He had practised law in Algonquin for ten 
years, and as he had been brought up in the town 
and was related to one-half the population, and loved 
by the whole of it, he was spoken of familiarly as 
Lawyer Ed. 

A tall man, leading a little boy by the hand, fol- 
lowed him slowly down the steps. The man was not 
past middle age, but he was stooped and worn with a 
life of heavy toil. 

“ Well, Angus,” Lawyer Ed was saying, his deep 
musical voice thrilling with sympathy, “ that’ll make 


10 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 

you comfortable for a while now, until you’re better, 
anyway. And there’s no need for me, or any one, 
to tell you not to worry over it.” 

The older man smiled. No, no. Tut, tut ! 
Worry ! That would be but a poor way to treat 
the Father^s care, indeed.” His dark eyes shone 
with an inner light. “ If He needs my farm. He’ll 
show me how to lift the mortgage. And if He needs 
me to do any more work for Him here. He’ll give me 
back my health. But if not—” he paused and his 
hand went instinctively to the shoulder of the little 
boy looking up at him with big wondering eyes — 
“ if not — well, well, never fear. He knows the way. 
He knows.” 

An old light wagon and a horse with hanging head 
were standing by the sidewalk. The man clambered 
slowly to the seat and gathered up the lines. Law- 
yer Ed picked up the little boy and swung him up be- 
side his father. He shook him well before he set him 
down, boxed his ears, pulled his hair, and finally, 
diving into his pockets, brought out a big handful of 
pink “ bull’s-eyes ” and showered them into his hat. 
The little fellow shouted with delight, and having 
crammed his mouth full, he doubled up his small fists 
and challenged his friend to another scuffle. 

But Lawyer Ed shook his head. 

No! That’s enough nonsense to-day, you young 
rascal! Good-bye, Angus, and — ” his musical voice 
became low and soft — ‘‘ and God bless you.” 

Angus McRae’s smile, as he drove away, was like 


THE GLEAM 


11 


the sun breaking out over Lake Algonquin, and the 
lawyer felt as if their positions were reversed, and 
he had just put a mortgage on his farm and Angus 
were trying to comfort him. 

He stood for a moment on the sidewalk, his bright 
eyes grown misty, and watched the pair drive down 
the hill. Then he looked across the street and saw 
Doctor Archibald Blair climbing into his mud- 
splashed' buggy, satchel in hand. Lawyer Ed 
walked across to him, his shining boots sinking in the 
soft mud. 

By descent Lawyer Ed was partly Scotch, by na- 
ture he was entirely Irish. He possessed a glib 
tongue of the latter order and his habit was to ad- 
dress every one he met, be he Indian, Highland Scot, 
or French Canadian, in the dialect which the person 
was supposed to favour. So he roared out in his 
magnificent baritone, as he picked his way among the 
puddles : 

‘‘ Hoot ! Losh ! Is yon yersel% Aerchie mon ? ” 

Doctor Blair glared down at him from under low- 
ering brows. 

“ Dear me, Ed, you’re an object of pity, when 
you try to get that clumsy tongue of yours, ham- 
pered as it is by a brogue from Cork, around the 
most musical sounds of the most musical language 
under heaven. Give it up, man ! Give it up ! ” 

Haud yer whisht ! Or whisht yer blethers ! — 
whichever way that outlandish, heathenish gibberish 
your forebears jabbered, would have it. You see. 


12 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


Archie, one great advantage of being Irish — and it’s 
not your fault that you’re not, man, I don’t blame 
you — one great advantage is that you can speak all 
languages with equal ease. Now a Scotchman’s 
tongue is like his sense of humour and his brains — a 
bit hard to wiggle.” 

“ ‘ Beware a tongue thafs smoothlg hung, 

A heart that warndy seems to feel ’ ” — 

quoted Doctor Blair, who was always ready with his 
Burns. He shoved his black satchel under the seat, 
and hauled the muddy lap-robe over his knees. 

“ Do you want anything in the line of common 
sense, or did you just come over here to blather? ” 

“ I came to see what you thought of Angus. Is 
he very sick? ” 

Angus McRae? Yes he is, Ed, I’m sorry to say, 
I felt I ought to tell him to quit work altogether, 
but he can’t afford it.” 

‘‘ Is it anything dangerous ? ” 

“Well, if anything should happen — a shock or 
strain of any kind on his heart — ^he’d be laid up — 
maybe put out of business altogether.” 

“ And to-day he put a mortgage on his place, to 
help pay the debts of Peter McDuff and a dozen 
other old leeches that live on him.” 

The two friends looked at each other and nodded 
silently. 

“ He’s a wonderful man, that Angus McRae,” 
said Dr. Blair. 


THE GLEAM 


13 


He’s the finest man living ! ” cried Lawyer Ed, 
always enthusiastic. “ I owe that man more than I 
can ever pay — not money, something more valuable 
— nearly everything I have that’s worth while.” 

His friend nodded. There were few men in Al- 
gonquin who were not indebted to Angus McRae for 
something of value. 

Angus is rich in that sort of wealth,” said Archie 
Blair. 

“ ‘ It*s no in titles nor in rank; 

It^s no in wealth like London hank. 

To purchase peace and rest. 

It’s no in makin’ muckle mair; 

It’s no in hooks; it’s no in lear; 

To make us truly hlest’ 

“ But Angus knows where it is, and he’s not like 
most people who go to church and sing and pray 
one day in the week and cheat their neighbours the 
other six ! ” 

The doctor cracked his whip and drove off in 
high good humour, for he had made a smart slap 
at the church, as he always loved to do in Lawyer 
Ed’s presence, and had escaped before that glib 
Irishman could answer. He could catch something 
roared out behind him, about a man who could stay 
home from church so that he might be a hypocrite 
seven days in the week and half the nights too, but 
he pretended not to hear. 

Meanwhile Angus McRae and his little son rattled 


14 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


away down one street and along another and out 
upon the country road. Just where the town and 
country met stretched a row of ragged, tumble-down 
buildings. There was an ill-smelling hotel, with two 
or three loungers smoking on the sagging veranda, a 
long fence covered with tattered and glaring circus 
posters, a half-dozen patched and weather-beaten 
houses and a row of abandoned sheds and barns, 

Algonquin proper was a pretty little town, all or- 
chards and gardens and winding hilly streets smoth- 
ered in trees. And the dreary wretchedness of its 
back entrance, as it might be called, was all the more 
painful in contrast. Willow Lane, this miserable 
little street was named; but Angus McRae had long 
termed it, in his secret heart, the Jericho Road. For 
the old tavern at the end of it had proved the down- 
fall of many a traveller on that highway, and many a 
man had Angus picked up, who had fallen there 
among thieves. 

Every one on the Jericho Road knew him well, and 
went to him for help in time of trouble and, though 
they did not realise it, he was indeed their neighbour 
in precisely the way his Master meant him to be. 

The lane turned into the country road, and once 
more all was fragrance and beauty. It curved 
around the southern shore of Lake Algonquin; on 
one side the forest, dark and cool, its dim floor 
splashed with golden light, its arches ringing with 
the call of the Canada bird, on the other side the 


THE GLEAM 15 

blue and white of the lake, laughing and tumbling 
beneath the blue and white of the sky. 

When the gleam of the water came into view, 
the little boy clapped his hands and churned up and 
down in delight. The fresh, damp wind fanned his 
face, and he shouted to the white-winged gulls dip- 
ping and soaring out there in their free ocean of air. 
He looked up laughingly into his father’s face, but 
quickly became grave. His father’s eyes were wist- 
ful ; he had not spoken for a long time. The child 
remembered vague hints of trouble that afternoon 
in Lawyer Ed’s office. ‘ 

“ You won’t have to work when I get a big man, 
Daddy,” he said comfortingly. “ I’ll work for you. 
An’ I’ll get rich, an’ you’ll have lots an’ lots of 
money.” 

His father smiled down at him lovingly. Och, 
indeed, it’s your father will he the happy man when 
Roderick grows up. He’ll have nothing to do at all 
. at all.” 

“ What was Lawyer Ed doing? ” queried the child, 
after a moment’s thought. “ Is he goin’ to let Jock 
McPherson take away our house? ” 

“ No, no, child. You must not be troubling your 
head with such thoughts. It was just some business 
Roderick is not old enough to understand.” 

The little fellow sat swinging his short legs and 
gazing out over the lake, struggling with a vague 
sense of danger. He had been brought up on the 


16 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


edge of poverty, but had been joyously unconscious 
of the fact. His father, Aunt Kirsty, Collie, his 
dog, and the farm had been his world, a world of love 
and enjoyment and plenty. But now he felt the near- 
ness of some unseen foe, something that had made 
Lawyer Ed and Doctor Blair look so grave,, and was 
now keeping his father quiet and thoughtful. He 
had a notion that it all had something to do with 
money. 

“ If you only had a pot o’ gold,” he said at last, 
still staring out over the lake. 

A pot of gold ! ” repeated his father, with a 
laugh. ‘‘ And what would be putting that into your 
foolish little head.^^ ” 

“ A pot o’ gold would buy anything you wanted, 
Peter says. He told me about it, Peter Fiddle did. 
Once a boy found a pot o’ gold bangin’ on to the end 
of a rainbow. There’s always one there. Daddy. 
Yes, there is, Peter Fiddle says so. An’ a boy trav- 
elled a long, long way to the end of a rainbow, an’ 
he found it — the pot o’ gold. An’ he was rich, an’ 
he gave money to all the poor people an’ made them 
happy.” 

“ And so Peter’s been telling you more fairy-tales, 
eh.? Well, well, it will be a pretty one. And now, I 
suppose the first rainbow you see, you’ll be off to get 
that pot of gold.” 

He nodded excitedly. “ Wouldn’t I just ! ” he cried. 

Angus McRae was not despondent over the mort- 
gage which his ill health and his extravagant expen- 


THE GLEAM 


diture for oil and wine and inn-fees had compelled 
him to put on his little farm. He was one of those 
glad souls, with such a perfect faith in his Father, 
that he could not but believe that what might seem 
to be a bane was in reality a blessing. But he was 
a little puzzled and thoughtful. The solution of 
the problem was in his Father’s hands, of course, but 
he could not help wondering just how it would be 
worked out, and if he himself were using his every 
faculty for the best ends. 

The greatest part of his problem was the Lad. 
His boy had been the very centre of all his thoughts 
since the day She had left him, with only faith in 
God and the Lad’s baby hands to hold him up from 
despair. She had always hoped that the Lad would 
have an education, and Angus had planned that he 
should. But if the little farm was to go, the Lad 
would have to work for his father and Aunt Kirsty 
just as soon as he was big enough. And She had 
always hoped he should be a minister some day, or 
even, perhaps, a missionary to a heathen land. 

And next to the Lad was his ministry to his neigh- 
bours. What was to become of that.?^ Ministry was 
not the word Angus McRae would have used in speak- 
ing of his humble calling, — the mere working of a lit- 
tle market garden farm and the selling of what it pro- 
duced. And yet he had made it a real and beautiful 
ministry to both God and his fellow-man. He con- 
sidered the selling of sweet turnips and sound cab- 
bage and unspotted potatoes to his customers as 


18 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


much a religious rite, as did the most devout Israelite 
the offering of that which was perfect on the altar of 
Jehovah. For indeed everything Angus sent off 
his little farm, whether sold for a legitimate price or 
given away, as it so often was, to a needy neighbour, 
was truly an offering to the Most High. 

So he was a little puzzled, though not at all sad- 
dened, by the thought that his ministry was to be 
curtailed, perhaps stopped. He had hoped to be al- 
ways able to give a bag of potatoes to a poor neigh- 
bour, or to bring to his home any one who had fallen 
on the Jericho Road. But then, if the Father 
wanted him to stop that. He surely had other work 
for him. So he flapped his old horse with the lines 
and, leaning forward, hummed the hymn that was 
his watchword in times of stress: 

“ My soul, be on thy guard. 

Ten thousand foes arise. 

The hosts of sin are pressing hard. 

To draw thee from the shies! ” 

The Lad interrupted constantly with eager ques- 
tions about this flower and that tree, and his old 
horse demanded much attention, to keep her from 
turning off the road and regaling herself on the 
green grass. He flapped her at regular intervals 
with the lines, saying in a tone of gentle remon- 
strance, “Tut, tut, Betsy, get up now, get up.” 

Betsy had had so many years’ intimate acquaint- 
ance with her master that this encouragement to 


THE GLEAM 


19 


greater speed had long ago lost its real meaning to 
her. She had come to regard its gentle reiteration 
as a sort of pleasant lullaby, and jogged along more 
peacefully than ever. 

They slowly rounded a curve in the road and came 
into view of their home, the little weather-beaten 
house facing the lake, with Aunt Kirsty’s garden a 
glory of sweet-peas, the long rows of neat vegetable 
beds sloping down to the water, the straggling lane 
with the big oak at the gate. And there was Collie 
bounding down the lane, uttering yelping barks and 
twisting himself almost out of joint in his efforts to 
wag his tale hard enough to express his welcome. 
The Lad leaped down and ran to open the gate ; Col- 
lie knocked him over in his ecstasy, and his father 
smiled indulgently as the two rolled over and over 
on the grass. 

“ Run away in to Aunt Kirsty and tell her we are 
home. Lad,” he cried, as he drove past to the bam. 
The boy put the pin in the old gate and went frolick- 
ing along the lane, the dog circling about him. The 
lane ran straight past the house down to the water, 
hedged by an old rail fence and fringed with rasp- 
berry and alder bushes. From it a little gate led 
into Aunt Kirsty’s garden, which surrounded the 
house. The boy paused with his hand on the latch 
of the gate, looking down at the water. And then 
he gave a loud, ecstatic “ Oh ! ” that made Collie 
bark, and stood perfectly still. He could see Lake 
Algonquin spread out before him, stretching away 


20 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


to the north in lovely curves like a great river. 
Its gleaming floor was dotted with green, feathery 
islands. To the west, in a silver haze, lay the town ; 
to the east, a low, woodted shore where the spire of 
the little Indian church pointed up like a shining 
finger out of the green. Great masses of clouds were 
piled high in the west, where the sunset was turning 
all the world into glory. But it was not the beauty 
of the scene that was holding the little boy spell- 
bound. Down there, straight ahead of him, was a 
most marvellous thing, the fulfilment of his dreams. 
Across the radiant water, stretching from some 
fairy island in the heavens, far over to the opposite 
shore, hung a rainbow! And more wonderful still, 
right down there at its foot, just beyond Wanda 
Island, gleaming and beckoning, hung the pot of 
gold! 

The Lad’s heart gave a great leap. There it was, 
just as Peter Fiddle had described it! Why should 
he not go after it, right now, and bring it home to 
his father.? He went tearing down the hill. Collie 
leaping at his side. Peter Fiddle had said that the 
reason more folks did not get the rainbow gold and 
be rich and happy ever after, was because they did 
not go after it right at once. For the pot of gold 
did not hang there very long, and might slip into the 
water with a big splash any minute, and be gone for- 
ever. So the Lad ran in frantic haste, and the dog 
bounded ahead and nearly rushed into the water, in 
his mistaken idea that he was to catch the gulls that 


THE GLEAM 


21 


came swooping so near and were off and away before 
he could snap. The old green boat belonging to his 
father was lying on its side half in the water ; the Lad 
tugged at it madly without moving it an inch. He 
glanced about him and spied with delight Peter Fid- 
dle’s canoe lying upside down under the birches. 
Peter worked for his father, when not away fishing 
or playing the fiddle or spinning yams ; and when 
he went away by land his canoe was always at home, 
and sometimes the Lad had paddled out in it alone. 
He pulled and tugged at it manfully, and after great 
exertions that left him panting, he managed to launch 
it. Collie, just returned from a mad charge after 
the gulls, leaped in beside him. The boy seized the 
paddle and pushed off hurriedly. He seated himself 
on the thwart and looked out to get his direction. 
Yes, there it still hung, away out there at the end of 
the island, gleaming bigger and brighter than ever. 
The canoe was large, and the paddle clumsy, but he 
was filled with such a passion to get that gold that 
he made wonderful progress. He leaned far over the 
side, splashing the heavy paddle into the water, until, 
what with his unsteady stroke, his dangerous posi- 
tion on the thwart, and Collie’s mad attempts to 
catch the passing gulls, the wonder was that the rain- 
bow expedition did not come to grief as soon as it 
was launched. But the Lad had been brought up on 
the water, and had already had many a lesson in ca- 
noeing from Peter Fiddle, and, after the first excite- 
ment, he realised his mistake. So he slid to his 


22 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 

knees and ordered Collie to the bottom of the canoe 
in front of him. Then, gazing intently ahead, he 
paddled, in a zigzag course, out towards the wonder- 
ful golden haze. 

Somehow it had a strange, elusive way of seeming 
to be in one place and then appearing in another. 
The canoeist grew hot, and panting with his efforts. 
The perspiration stood out on his round, rosy face, 
and the curls on his forehead became wet. He flung 
off his hat, and redoubled his efforts. He bent his 
head to his task, as his paddle bumped and splashed 
its way into the water. When he looked up again, 
he found, to his dismay, that Wanda Island lay right 
between him and his shining goal. 

This little garden of spruce and cedar had here- 
tofore marked the bounds of his excursions. His 
father had often allowed him to go out alone 
in the boat or Peter’s canoe, but only when he 
was watching from the fields or the shore, and 
then he was permitted to go only up and down in 
the shelter of the island. But he did not hesi- 
tate to go farther, fearing the magic gold might 
vanish while he lingered. He revived his flagging 
energies by picturing his father’s joy and wonder 
when he returned and came staggering up the 
path with the money. And then his father could 
wear his Sunday blacks every day in the week, and 
never work any more, but just ride to and from 
town all day long in a new buggy, a painted one like 
Doctor Blair’s. And they would hire Peter Fiddle 


THE GLEAM 


and young Peter every day in the year to hoe the 
fields, and they would give away everything they grew. 
And the people in Willow Lane would all be good 
and happy ever after. Oh, there would never be any 
trouble of any kind when he came home with that pot 
of gold! 

He paddled manfully round the island, pushing 
through the reeds of the little bay and just skim- 
ming the rocks at the western extremity. But his 
arms ached so, that he had to pause a moment to rest. 
As he did so, he heard a loud whistle, and the steamer, 
Inmrness, came round a far point and turned her 
long bowsprit towards the town, lying ofF to the 
left in a shining mist. The boy grabbed his paddle 
again and redoubled his efforts. Peter had gone 
down to Barbay that morning on the Inverness, and 
was in all likelihood on board, and although the 
young adventurer intended to reward Peter liberally 
for the use of his canoe, he felt it would be safer for 
him to have it on shore before its owner returned. 
He took one tremendous splashing stroke, and, as 
he did so, he felt a strange, sharp pain in his right 
arm. It made him cry out so loud that Collie turned 
quickly to him with a whine of grieved sympathy. 
The boy dropped the paddle across his knee and 
caught his arm. Gradually the pain left and he 
took up the paddle again. But somehow the glory 
of the expedition seemed to have vanished. He 
wanted Aunt Kirsty when that pain came into his 
arm, more than he wanted all the gold of all the rain- 


24 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


bows he had ever seen. He bent to his paddle with 
much less vim, and slowly and painfully round the 
island he came, and out into the open lake. And 
then, — where, oh, where, was the pot of gold? And 
where was the rainbow? He seemed to have come 
out with one stroke of his paddle from a world that 
was all colour and light to one that was cold, grey 
and dreary. He looked about him amazed. All the 
beauty of the lake had faded into mist. The rain- 
bow was gone ! A chill, damp breeze fanned his hot 
face, coming down from the north, where the clouds 
had grown black. The little mariner sat on his heels 
in the bottom of his canoe and looked about him in 
dismay. Surely the pot of gold had not gone. Per- 
haps it was hidden away behind those dark clouds 
and would come gleaming out again right in front of 
him. But though he sat and waited, the world only 
grew greyer and darker. Collie stood up again and 
barked defiance at a heron that sailed away overhead, 
but his little master sharply bade him lie down. The 
pain in his arm gave another twinge, and slowly and 
sadly he took up his paddle and turned his canoe 
homeward. 

As he did so he felt a light breeze lift him. It 
came from the north, where those dark clouds had 
swallowed up his rainbow. A strange, weird thing 
was happening up there in those clouds, and the boy 
paused to watch. Down the shimmering floor of the 
lake, sweeping slowly towards him, came a great 
army. Stealthy, hurrying shapes, with bent, grey- 


THE GLEAM 


25 


cowled heads, and trailing garments, rank on rank 
they stole forward, mystery and fear in their every 
movement. Many a time, on an autumn evening, 
the boy had watched the fog start away up the lake 
and come stealing down, until the islands and the 
town and the forest were covered as with a blanket. 
But he had never seen anything so awesome as this. 
The strange shapes into which the light gusts of 
wind had driven the mist made them look like an army 
of ghosts driven out of the haunts of night. They 
were bringing night in their train, too. For as they 
swept silently onward, everything in earth and lake 
and sky was blotted out. One by one the islands van- 
ished; the far-off eastern shore was wiped away as 
if by some magic hand. The tower of the little In- 
dian church stood out for a moment above the flood 
and then sank engulfed; and the next moment the 
great host had swept over the little sailor and he was 
walled in and cut off from land and water, alone in a 
cloudy sea with neither shore nor sky nor surface. 
The boy turned swiftly towards his home, and when 
he saw that it, too, was gone, he uttered a cry of ter- 
ror. “ Daddy, oh. Daddy ! ” he wailed. Collie came 
close and licked his face and whined, then looked 
about him and growled disapprovingly at the weird 
thing that surrounded them. The boy put his arms 
tight around the dog’s neck and hugged him. ‘‘ Oh, 
Collie ! ” he cried, we’re lost, and I don’t know 
where home is and where Daddy is.” It was not the 
loss of gold that troubled him now. He stared about 


26 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 

him in the greyness, striving to make out some ob- 
ject. The fog was so thick that he could see only 
the length of the canoe, but a big, darker mass of 
shadow in a world of shadows, told him where Wanda 
Island lay, and grasping his paddle, he started in what 
he believed to be the direction of home. He paddled 
until he was out of breath, rested a moment, then 
went at it again with all his might. The pain in his 
arm returned, but he dared not stop. And as he 
worked madly in his efforts to reach home, the gentle 
wind was slowly but surely carrying him out to the 
open lake. 

Every few minutes the thought of his father would 
overcome him and he would drop his paddle and, sink- 
ing down beside Collie, would sob aloud. Then he 
would rise again bravely and go at his task, but each 
time with feebler efforts. The pain in his arm, which 
kept returning at intervals, was sometimes so bad he 
had to stop and nurse it. He was wet to the skin 
now, and Collie’s hair was dripping. Whenever he 
rested, he spent the Interval calling loudly for his 
father, while Collie helped him by barking, but though 
he listened till his ears were strained, only the soft 
lap, lap, of the waves against the canoe answered. 
As night came on the thick pall grew heavier and 
blacker, and at last he could not see even the length 
of the canoe. 

The sore arm became almost helpless at last, and 
he could paddle only a few strokes at long intervals. 
He slipped down beside Collie, hugging him close. 


THE GLEAM 


27 


and sobbed out on his sympathetic bead his sorrow 
for the rash venture. He even confessed that he 
wished he had left his friend at home. “ Aunt Kir- 
sty and Daddy will be that lonesome, Collie,” he 
w ailed, ‘‘ without either of us. But I couldn’t do 
without you at all. Collie ! ” he added. And Collie 
licked his face again, and whined his appreciation 
of the compliment. They seemed to drift on and on 
for hours and hours. The boy’s imagination, fed by 
the wild tales from Peter Fiddle — tales of shipwrecks 
at sea, and dead men’s bones cast upon haunted 
islands — , became a prey to every terror. There 
were ghosts and goblins out here, and water fairies, 
that might spirit you away to a land whence there 
was no returning; and there were those other crea- 
tures so terrible that Peter had not dared even to de- 
scribe them, called Bawkins.” He shivered at the 
thought of them, and clung to the dog, too fright- 
ened to cry out. He had been trying to pray in 
broken snatches, but now, in his extremity of fear, 
he felt he must put up a petition of more force. He 
scrambled to his knees and tried to get Collie to join 
him by bowing his head. But Collie seemed of an 
altogether irreverent nature, and only licked his lit- 
tle master’s face all the more. So the Lad gave it 
up, and, putting his hands together behind the dog’s 
head, whispered : “ Oh, dear Lord, we’re lost, me and 
Collie. Please send Father and Peter Fiddle with the 
boat to find us. Please don’t let us get drownded 
or don’t let the Bawkins get us. And please don’t 


28 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


mind Collie not prayin’ right, ’cause he’s only a dog, 
but he’s lost, too; and please bring us safe home. 
And oh. Dear Jesus, I’m sorry I came out alone 
to hunt for the pot o’ gold, but I didn’t know 
it was so far, and please won’t you make Daddy 
and Peter Fiddle hurry, ’cause I’m so cold and 
so hungry and my arm’s awful sore and I can’t 
paddle no more. And please, if Peter Fiddle 
ain’t home yet and has gone off and got drunk, won’t 
you please send young Peter with Daddy. And 
please send them in a hurry.” He paused, but felt 
he must end in a more becoming way. It was 
his first extemporaneous prayer of any length, and 
he scarcely knew how to close. Then he remem- 
bered how Dr. Leslie, in the church where he went 
every Sabbath with his father, was wont to bring hisi 
morning petition to a close, so he added, ‘‘ Only 
please, please, don’t let Peter Fiddle get drunk to- 
night — world wifout end. Amen.” 

There were some more tears after that, but not such 
bitter ones ; for Angus McRae’s son could not but be- 
lieve that God heard prayer, and he waited for his 
answer in a child’s faith. ‘‘ He’s sure to send Daddy 
soon. Collie,” he said comfortingly; and then, qua- 
veringly, after a few moments of intense listening 
and waiting, “ It wouldn’t be like God not to, now, 
would it. Collie ? ” 

There was another period of calling into the dark- 
ness and of silent waiting, broken only by the wash 
of the little ripples against the canoe. And then 


THE GLEAM 


29 


there was a spasmodic attempt at paddling, followed 
by another season of prayer and a piteous plea for 
haste. Then the Lad bethought himself of his fa- 
ther’s hymn, the one he sang so often when he was in 
danger ; though the son often was puzzled as to what 
sort of danger it was that assailed his father. There 
was no doubt about his own danger just now, so the 
child lifted a tremulous voice and tried to sing: — 

“ My soul, he on thy guard. 

Ten thousand foes arise. 

The hosts of sin are pressing hard. 

To draw thee from the shies! ” 

But the singing was a failure. He was hoarse with 
crying and shouting, and fearful that the “ Baw- 
kins ” would hear, and come and carry his canoe 
through the air, away, away, to the land of mists 
and dead people. And the poor sounds he managed 
to make seemed to strike Collie as the most grievous 
thing of all this disastrous voyage, for he put back 
his head and howled dismally. So the Lad gave it up 
and took to praying again, sure that though Father 
and Aunt Kirsty and Peter Fiddle were far away, 
that God was near. He was wet and chilled through 
now, and, was so exhausted that at last his head sank 
on Collie’s neck. He was lying there, half asleep, 
when the dog suddenly gave a leap and a loud bark 
that roused him in terror. He clutched Collie and 
held him down with stem threats. But his terror 
changed to wild hope. Away behind him was a dim 


30 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


yellow light making a long tunnel through the fog. 
And down it a far, far voice was calling, “ Roderick I 
Roderick, my son, where are you?” 

“ Daddy ! Oh, Daddy ! ” the boy answered with a 
hoarse scream. “ Here I am in the canoe with Col- 
lie ! ” There was no need to announce the dog’s pres- 
ence, for Collie was barking madly and leaping so his 
little master could hardly hold him. But he was not 
nearly so careful as he would have been a few minutes 
before, for it did not seem to matter even if the canoe 
did upset, when his father was near ! 

The next moment a boat swept alongside with a 
blinding glare of light, and such a crowd of people! 
— Peter Fiddle at the oars, and young Peter at the 
rudder, and Lawyer Ed! And there seemed to be 
lights suddenly appearing on every side, and the 
whole lake was ringing with shouts ! But the boy 
heard only his father’s voice, saw only his out- 
stretched arms. He fairly tumbled out of the canoe 
into them, and there sobbed out all his terror and ex- 
haustion, while Collie leaped and barked and tried 
his best to upset the boat. 

“ Oh, Daddy,” the little boy sobbed, with the wis- 
dom born of adversity, “ I didn’t get the gold — but 
* — I — don’t want anything ever — ^if I’ve just got 
you! ” 


CHAPTER II 


THE GREATEST OF THE THREE ’’ 

A ngus MC RAE had been an intimate 
friend of Edward Brians, ever since the 
days when the latter was a little boy and 
the former a young man living on adjoining farms. 
Angus had, early in life, taken upon himself the role 
of Good Samaritan, watching with especial care over 
this young neighbour, and many a time the headlong 
lad might have fallen among thieves had a friend’s 
example and assistance not been always at hand. 

And now Lawyer Ed’s mind was busy with schemes 
for returning a little of that life-long assistance, as 
he set out for his office the morning after young Rod- 
erick’s rainbow expedition. “ I’ve got to get some 
money, and I will get it,” he announced to the bloom- 
ing syringa bush at his door, “ if I have to take it by 
assault and battery.” 

He had come home very late the night before, but 
he was astir none the less early for that. For though 
he was usually the last man in the town to go to bed, 
and often worked nearly all night, he always ap- 
peared in good time the next morning, looking as 
fresh and well-groomed as though he had just come 
home from a month’s vacation. 

31 


32 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


Like all the other professional folk of Algonquin, 
Lawyer Ed lived up on the hill to the north of the 
tow'n. His widowed sister kept his house and won- 
dered, with all the rest of the town, why on earth 
Ed didn’t get married. Her brother answered all 
enquiries on the subject according to the age and 
sex of the enquirer; and had nearly every young 
lady in the place convinced that he was secretly 
pining for her. He came swinging down his steps 
this bright June morning humming a tune in his deep 
melodious voice. He picked a rosebud and fast- 
ened it in his button-hole and strode down the street, 
stopping at the gate of every one of his friends — 
and who wasn’t his friend? — to hail the owner and 
summon him to his work. He ran into “ Rosemount,” 
the big brick house where the handsome Miss Arm- 
strongs lived, to make arrangements for a Choral 
Society practice, he drummed up a half-dozen recre- 
ant Sunday-school teachers within the space of two 
blocks, and he roared across the street to Doctor 
Archie Blair to be sure not to forget that time bit 
bills for the Scotchmen’s picnic maun be gotten oot 
that week. For Lawyer Ed belonged to every organ- 
isation of the town in church or state, except the 
Ladies’ Aid — and he often attended even its meetings 
when he wanted something, and always got what he 
wanted, too. So, although he had started early, it 
was rather late when at last he reached the home of 
his special friend, J. P. Thornton, and hammered 


“GREATEST OF THE THREE'' 


53 


loudly on the gate. So late, in fact, that J. P. had 
gone. He went on alone very much disappointed. 
When any one in Algonquin was in trouble he went 
to Lawyer Ed, but when Lawyer Ed was in trouble 
himself, he went to his old chum, J. P. Thornton. 
And he was in trouble this morning, none the less 
deep that it was another's. He looked down the 
street towards his office, knowing a big day’s work 
awaited him there. 

“ You can just wait,” he remarked to the trim red 
brick building. “ I’ve got to get Angus off my mind ; ” 
and he whirled in at the Manse gate and went up the 
steps in two springs. 

The Manse was a broad-bosomed, wide-armed 
house, opposite the church, looking as if it wanted 
to embrace every one who approached its big door- 
way. Its appearance was not deceiving. No matter 
at what hour one went inside its gate, one found at 
least half the congregation there, the sad ones sitting 
in the doctor’s study, the happy ones spread out 
over the lawn. As Lawyer Ed remarked, the Lord 
had purposely given the Leslies no children, so that 
they might adopt the congregation and bring it up 
in the way it should go. 

Mrs. Leslie was at the other end of the garden, 
cutting roses ; she waved a spray at him, heavy with 
dew, and he took off his hat and made her a profound 
bow. He would have shouted a greeting to any other 
woman in Algonquin, but he never roared at Mrs. Les- 


S4 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 

lie. There was something in the stately old-world 
atmosphere surrounding the lady of the Manse, that 
made even Lawyer Ed treat her with deference. 

The door was open and he went straight in and 
along the hall towards the minister’s study. As he 
did so a door at the opposite end of the hall opened 
suddenly and admitted a round black face and an 
ample red-aproned figure. 

Good mawnin’, Missy Viney ! ” drawled the vis- 
itor. I done wanta see de ministah, bress de 
Lawd!” 

Viney’s white eyeballs and shining teeth flashed 
him a welcome. 

“ Laws-a-me, Lawya Ed ! Is you-all gwine get 
marrit.? ” 

Viney was a fat, jolly young woman, whom Mrs. 
Leslie had lured from the httle negro settlement in 
the township of Oro, a few miles from Algonquin. 
She felt the responsibility of her position fully, and 
showed a marked interest in the affairs of every one 
of the congregation. But of all living things she 
loved Lawyer Ed most. His presence never failed 
to put her in the highest spirits, and his bachelor- 
hood was her perennial joke. 

“ Yassum,” he answered, hanging his head shyly, 
“ if you done hab me, Viney. I bin wantin’ you for 
years, but I bin too bashful.” 

Viney screamed and flapped her red apron at him. 
“ You go ’long, you triflin’ lawya-man ! ” she cried, 


‘‘GREATEST OF THE THREE” 


35 


going off into a gale of giggles; but just then the 
study door opened, the minister’s head came out, and 
the cook’s vanished. 

“ Ah, I thought it was you, Edward, by the joyful 
noise,” said Dr. Leslie, smiling. He took his visitor 
by the hand and drew him in. 

“ Come away, come. I was hoping you would 
drop in this morning.” 

They sat down, the minister in his arm-chair be- 
fore his desk. Lawyer Ed balanced on the arm of 
another, protesting that he must not stay. It was 
his way when he dropped in at the Manse and re- 
mained a couple of hours or so, to bustle about, hat 
and stick in hand, changing from one chair to an- 
other, to assure himself that he was just going. Dr. 
Leslie understood, and did not urge him to sit down. 

Though not an old man, the minister had seen Law- 
yer Ed grow up from the position of a scholar in his 
Sabbath School, and quite the most riotous and mis- 
chievous one there, to the superintendency of it, and 
to a seat in the session ; and he had a special fatherly 
feeling towards his youngest elder. Dr. Leslie was 
the only man in Algonquin, too, folk said, whom Law- 
yer Ed feared, and to whose opinion he deferred with- 
out argument. 

“ And have you heard from Angus this morning, 
: — or the wee lad? ” 

“ Archie came home about an hour ag6. The lit- 
tle rascal’s all right, except for a sore arm. I guess 


36 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


he nearly put it out of joint, paddling. Angus was 
better, too ; but I’m bothered about Angus, Dr. Les- 
lie. That’s what I came in for.” 

He moved about the room, fingering ornaments, 
picking up books and laying them down again. 

“ Archie Blair says the anxiety was so bad for his 
heart, that he’s got to stop work right away, for all 
summer anyway, and perhaps longer. And his place 
is all planted, and yesterday, at my advice, he put a 
mortgage on it.” 

He stopped before his minister and looked at him 
with appealing, troubled eyes. ‘‘ I feel as if I 
shouldn’t have let him, but I didn’t anticipate this.” 

Dr. Leslie sat drumming his fingers on the table, 
his face very grave. 

“ We can’t see Angus McRae want, Edward. 
We’re all indebted to him for something — every one 
of the session, and the minister most of all.” 

“The session!” Lawyer Ed jumped off the arm 
of the sofa where he had just perched. “ There’s an 
idea. If you laid it before them, they’d do some- 
thing; and J. P. and I’ll push it and Archie Blair 
will help.” 

The minister shook his head. “ The session is a 
big body, Edward, and — ” he smiled, — it has wives 
and daughters. This must not be talked about. If 
we help Angus, we mustn’t kill him at the same time 
by hurting his Highland pride.” 

Lawyer Ed whacked a sofa cushion impatiently 
with his cane. 


^'GREATEST OF THE THREE” 


37 


“ There it is, of course ! Hang Scotchmen, any- 
way ! You can’t treat them like human beings. 
That abominable thing they call their pride — always 
clogs your wheels whichever way you go.” 

Don’t revile the tree from which you sprung, 
Edward,” said the Scotchman, smiling. 

“ Thank the Lord, the limb I grew on had a few 
good green Irish shamrocks mixed with the thistles. 
If Angus had been as fortunate we’d have him out of 
distress to-morrow.” 

“ Angus McRae will be the least distressed of us 
all. I thought of Paul last night when I saw him, 
‘ troubled on every side, yet not distressed, perplexed 
but not in despair.’ We must think of some way in 
which we can help him quietly — so quietly he may 
not know it himself. Who has the mortgage ” 
“Jock McPherson, of course, who else.?^ ” 

The minister’s face brightened. “ J ock McPher- 
son! Well, well, that is fortunate, Edward. Jock’s 
heart is big enough to put the whole church inside 
provided you find the right key.” 

Yes, but it’s a ticklish job fitting it when you do 
find it. Some small item in the business wiU strike 
him the wrong way and he will get slow and stiff and 
arise to the occasion with, ^ I feel. Mister Moterator, 
that it is my juty to object.’ ” 

His imitation of Mr. McPherson’s deliberate man- 
ner, when in his sadly frequent role of objector in 
the session, could not but bring a smile to the min- 
ister’s face. 


SS THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


“ I have no fear of your not being able to over- 
come bis objections, should any arise. Now, sit down 
just a few minutes, and let us see what is to be done.” 

The two talked far into the morning, and laid 
their plans well. Mr. McPherson was to be per- 
suaded to remove the mortgage, and instead, as An- 
gus was in need of the money, to rent the farm. 
Lawyer Ed was to see that it was let for a goodly 
sum that would keep its owner beyond anxiety, and 
whatever Jock stood to lose by the bargain was to be 
returned to him in whole or part by a little circle 
of friends. It was a great scheme, worthy of a 
legal mind. Dr. Leslie said, and Lawyer Ed went 
away well pleased with it. 

He went two blocks out of his way, so that he 
could reach J. P. Thornton’s office without passing 
his own, and spent another hour laying the scheme 
before him. 

So, when he finally got to his place of business, 
irate clients were buzzing about it like angry bees. 
But little cared Lawyer Ed. He laughed and joked 
them all into good humour and dropping into the 
chair 'at his desk, he drove through a mass of busi- 
ness in an incredibly short time, telephoning, writing 
notes, hailing passers-by on the street, and attending 
to his correspondence, all while he was holding per- 
sonal interviews, — doing half-a-dozen things at once 
and doing them as though they were holiday sport. 

The rush of the day’s business kept him from 
speaking to Jock McPherson until late in the even- 


^•'GREATEST OF THE THREE” 


39 


ing, when, at the end of the session meeting, he found 
himself walking away from the church with Mr. 
McPherson on one side and his friend, J. P. Thorn- 
ton, on the other. He felt just a little anxious over 
the outcome of the interview. He had no fear that 
Jock would be unwilling to help Angus McRae, but 
he had every fear, and with good reason, that he 
would want to do it in his own way. If Jock were in 
a good humour, he would fall in with the plan, if not, 
he would do exactly as he pleased and spoil every- 
thing. 

And, as ill-luck would have it, when they were 
coming down the steps under the checkered light from 
the arc-lamp shining through the leaves. Lawyer Ed 
made the most unfortunate remark he could have 
chosen. 

He was carrying home a Book of Praise under 
his arm and was humming a psalm in a rich under- 
tone. And the unwise thing he said was : “ I’d like 

to sing the Amen at the end of the psalms, as well as 
the hymns. What do you say, J. P..'^” 

“ An excellent idea, Ed,” said Mr. Thornton 
heartily. “ The psalms would sound much more 
finished — ” He stopped suddenly, realising that 
they had made a fatal mistake. Mr. McPherson had 
overheard, and uttered a disgusted snort. For he 
hated the new appendage to the hymns, and looked 
upon its importation into the church service much 
as if the use of incense had been introduced. Pie was 
a little man, with a shrewd eye and a slow tongue — 


40 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


but a tongue that could give a deadly thrust when 
he got ready to use it. 

‘‘ The Aye-men,” he said with great deliberation, 
and when he was most deliberate, he was most to be 
feared. ‘‘ Inteet, and you’ll be putting that tail to 
the end o’ the psawlms too.” He tapped Lawyer 
Ed on the arm with his spectacle case. “ Jist be 
waiting a bit till you get permission, young man. 
You and John Thornton are not jist awl the session.” 

Mr. McPherson was the senior elder, the champion 
of all things orthodox, and he was inclined to regard 
Lawyer Ed and J. P. as irresponsible boys. 

Hoot toot, mon,” shouted Lawyer Ed jovially. 
“ Wliat’s wrong wi’ a bit Aye-men f oreby ? It’s in 
the Scriptur’, ‘ Let all the people say Amen ’ — and 
here you would forbid them ! ” 

Jock was a Highlander, and Lawyer Ed’s habit 
of addressing him in a Lowland dialect was particu- 
larly irritating as the mischievous young elder well 
knew. 

“ Yus. You know the Scriptures ferry well indeed, 
but if you would be reading a little farther you will 
find that it will be saying, ^ How shall he that occu- 
pieth the room of the unlearned say Amen.? ’ ” 

This tickled Lawyer Ed and he laughed loudly. 
“ Tut, tut, Jock! It’s a small thing to make a fuss 
about. You and Jimmie McTavish and a lot more 
of you fellows are dead set against all sorts of things 
that you accept in the end. Why, man, I can re- 
member the day when you two objected to the little 


‘‘GREATEST OF THE THREE” 


41 


organ in the old church, and you got used to it and 
liked it.” 

“ I liked it.?* Indeed, and when would that be.?* ” 

“ Well, you stopped kicking, anyway, until we 
got the big one, which was clean unreasonable, what- 
efer.” 

“ No, sir.” Mr. McPherson’s spectacle case 
tapped the younger man’s arm peremptorily. “ I 
was perfectly logical then, as I am now. I objected 
when the wee squeaking thing was brought in, and I 
objected more when you and the weemin filled up the 
end o’ the church with a machine to turn us all deef. 
As I say, I was perfectly logical, the greater the 
organ, the greater the objection.” 

J. P. hid a smile in the darkness and hastened to 
interpose, for when Jock once got riding his objec- 
tion hobby he would agree with nothing under the 
sun. 

“ There’s an article in the British Weehly on the 
evolution of the church service — ” he began; but his 
impetuous friend was bent on setting Jock right in 
his own way, and hastened to his destruction. 

“ And on the same principle, the more Amen, the 
more objection, eh.?*” he cried laughingly. “But 
now, look here, if you’ll only consider this thing with 
a fair mind you can’t help seeing that, as J. P. says, 
a hymn or a psalm sounds unfinished without an 
Amen at the end. Take any hymn for example — 

They had reached the McPherson gate by this 
time, where an arc light, high up in its leafy perch, 


42 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 

was sputtering away shedding a white glow over the 
.side-walk and embroidering it with an exquisite pat- 
tern worked out in leaf-shadows. Lawyer Ed paused 
under the lamp and opened the Book of Praise. 

‘‘ I defy you to find one that isn’t improved and 
finished and rounded olf by an Amen at the end.” 
He selected a hymn at random, and sang a stanza in 
his rich voice that poured itself out gloriously on 
the evening air. 

“ Faith and hope and love me see 
Joining hands in unity. 

But the greatest of the three 
And the best is love, Amen,^^ 

The beautiful words, sung in Lawyer Ed’s melodi- 
ous voice, were enough to move even Jock’s orthodox 
heart. He was silent for a moment, then the noise 
of a window being raised above their heads inter- 
rupted. 

Mrs. McPherson was accustomed to after-session 
meetings, and noisy ones too, at her gate. But when 
they were accompanied by singing and shouting, at 
the disgraceful hour of eleven p. m. she felt it time 
to interfere. So she opened the window noisily and 
enquired if there was a fire anywhere. 

There was. It blazed up in Lawyer Ed’s heart, 
so enraged was he at this very inopportune inter- 
ruption, coming just when he thought he saw Jock 
wavering. He shouted at her to go in and mind her 
own business. 


“GREATEST OF THE THREE” 


43 


No one in Algonquin heeded what Lawyer Ed said 
when he was angry, but Mr. McPherson was in no 
mood to put up with even him. He became deadly 
slow and deliberate. He turned his back on the tur- 
bulent young man, and addressed the open window: 

‘‘ No, it will not be a fire, Mary,” he called. “ It’s 
just an Eerishman got loose, and we’ll haf to let him 
talk ofip his noise. He reminds me,” he continued, 
still addressing the window, though it had closed with 
a bang, “ he reminds me of that Chersey cow, my 
Cousin McNabb had in Islay, She wasn’t much for 
giflln’ milk, and it was vurry thin at that, but she 
was a great musician. You could hear her bawlin’ 
across two concessions.” 

J. P. Thornton was a jolly young Englishman, 
very prone to mirth, and this was too much for him. 
He turned traitor and laughed aloud. Lawyer Ed 
glared angrily at him; but Jock’s face underwent a 
peculiar twist. He had had no notion of saying any- 
thing witty, he had been too angry for that; but he 
had learned by experience that he never knew when 
he was going to make a joke. He was often surprised 
in the midst of a speech by a burst of laughter from 
his friends. Lawyer Ed generally first. Then he 
would pause and survey the path he had travelled, to 
find that all unconsciously he had stumbled upon a 
humorous vein. So when J. P. laughed he stopped 
to consider. The enemy flew to defend his ‘‘ bawlin’ ” 
and there was no time to see if he really had made 
a joke. But he was suspicious, and the suspicion 


M THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


put him in-to a good humour. A sudden inspiration 
seized him; he caught the book Lawyer Ed was 
brandishing and, opening it, laid it carefully on the 
top of the gate-post. 

It’s more feenished and rounded off, with the 
'^Aye-men, is it? ” he enquired with deep sarcasm. 
“ But you would not be feenishing it after all. If 
ye’re bound and deturmined to put a tail on the end 
o’ the hime, why don’t ye sing awl that’s in the book. 
You would be leaving out a bit.” 

He took his glasses from their case, fitted them on, 
and held the book carefully towards the electric light. 

“ If ye want it feenished, this is the way it should 
be sung.” 

Now, not even Mrs. Jock, who believed her hus- 
band the cleverest man in Algonquin, could say he 
was a singer, and it was with a terribly discordant 
wail that he lifted his voice in the melancholy words 
of the hymn before hm: 

“ There are no pardons m the toomb. 

And brief is mercy^s day, 

A -m-e-m-T-h-o-mrOrs-H-a-s-t-irnr g-s — ’ ’ 

The awful Amen,” drawled out to an indefinite 
length, with the author’s name, on the end, was irre- 
sistible. J. P. broke into a shout of laughter. For 
a moment. Lawyer Ed’s eyes gleamed in the dark- 
ness, but only for a moment, then he too gave way, 
and when Lawyer Ed laughed, a really good hearty 


“GREATEST OF THE THREE” 


45 


laugh, it was a musical performance that did not 
stop until every one within hearing was joining in the 
chorus. 

And then Jock began to realise that he had been 
witty again. He paused and bethought himself of 
what he had done, and he too saw how funny it was. 
He did not laugh right out at first. Jock’s mirth, 
like his wit, was too deliberate for that. He began 
by uttering a low subterranean sort of chuckle, which 
finally worked to the surface in a rhythmic shaking 
of his whole sturdy little body. By this time J. P. 
was leaning against a tree wiping his eyes, and every- 
body up and down the street was smiling and saying. 
That’s Lawyer Ed’s laugh. What’s he up to now, 
I wonder.? ” Jock checked his mirth quickly; it was 
not seemly to rejoice too heartily over one’s own hu- 
mour, but before the joy of it had left, by an adroit 
turn, J. P. had sent the conversation into its proper 
channel. 

A good joke on you, Ed!” he cried. “I must 
tell that to Angus McRae. Angus doesn’t love the 
‘ Amen ’ too much either, Jock.” 

Angus is in great trouble,” exclaimed Lawyer 
Ed, wiping his eyes and trying to look serious. 
‘‘ Did you hear about it, Jock.? ” 

Jock had not heard, so the story of little Roder- 
ick’s rainhow expedition and his father’s consequent 
heart affection was quickly told. And when the 
splendid plan to help was adroitly unfolded, Jock 


46 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


was quick to respond. It was the psychological mo- 
ment ; Thomas Hastings had driven away all dourness 
and Angus McRae’s case was safe. 

The two friends walked homeward under the 
shadows of the maples, the night-air sweet with the 
perfume of many gardens. They were both very 
happy, so happy indeed, that, as usual, they walked 
miles before they finally settled for the night. 

First, J. P. recollected again that fine article in 
the British Weekly, and strolled up the hill with his 
friend while he gave a synopsis of it. When they 
reached the gate. Lawyer Ed remembered that he 
should have told J. P. about old man Cassidy’s will 
and the trouble Mike was in over it, and so returned 
to J. P.’s gate. The Cassidy will was finished and 
J. P. in the midst of another fascinating article on 
Imperial Federation, when they reached there, and 
Lawyer Ed made him come up the hill again so that 
he might hear it. It was their usual manner of 
going home after a session meeting. 

‘‘ And may I ask,” said J. P., when their personal 
part in the financing of Angus’s affairs had been 
finally settled, and they stood at his gate for the 
third and last time, “ may I ask, if it is not too 
curious on my part, if you intend to appropriate 
church funds for your contribution, or just rob the 
bank? ” For J. P. knew well that Lawyer Ed’s 
extravagant generosity always kept him on the edge 
of poverty. 

“ Well, neither. Jock mightn’t think the first was 


‘‘GREATEST OF THE THREE’’ 


47 


orthodox. I don’t believe he’d object so strongly to 
the second, but it mightn’t be successful. I think, — 
yes, I’m afraid, I must draw on the Jerusalem Fund 
again.” 

“ Of course, I knew you would. Let me see ; that’s 
seven times we’ve stayed home from the Holy Land, 
isn’t it.? — ^the perfect number. A person naturally 
thinks of sevens in connection with Bible places.” 

Lawyer Ed laughed light-heartedly. Ever since 
the days when these two had tried to sit together in 
Sunday-school, and been separated by Doctor Leslie, 
they had planned that some time, they would make a 
visit together to Bible lands. Many a time since the 
trip had almost materialised, but Lawyer Ed’s money 
would fade away, or J. P.’s business interfere or some 
other contingency arise to make them stay at home. 
The final plans had been laid for the coming autumn, 
and now it was again to be postponed. 

But J. P. was not deceived into supposing Lawyer 
Ed was merely drawing upon a holiday fund. 

“ I believe you have somewhere about five dollars 
laid away for that trip, haven’t you.? ” 

“ Four-and-a-half, to be correct,” said his friend 
brazenly. 

“ I thought so. And where’s the rest going to 
spring from?” He was accustomed to keeping a 
stem eye on Ed’s affairs or the extravagant young 
man would have given away his house and office and 
all their contents long ago. 

Lawyer Ed did not answer for a moment. He 


48 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


looked like a naughty schoolboy caught in a foolish 
prank. The confession came out at last. 

‘‘ I’d almost decided not to go in with Will Gra- 
ham’s scheme. I don’t see how I can leave here just 
now, that’s a fact.” 

“ Ed ! ” cried his friend, half-admiring, half-impa- 
tient. “ Why, man, it’s the chance of your life. 
Bill’s making money so fast he can’t keep count of 
it. You’ll be a rich man and a famous one too in a 
few years if you go in with him, do you realise that.? ” 

“ Oh, there are lots more chances.” 

“ Yes, and they’ll slip away like this one. I, — 
can’t I help a little more.? ” 

“ No. And don’t talk any more about it. It’s 
just this way, Jock, I’ve no choice in the matter. If 
it was my last cent, and I knew I’d go to jail for it 
to-morrow, I’d help Angus. I just couldn’t see him 
want. It’s all right. I’ll stay on in Algonquin a 
few more years, and we’ll see what’ll happen. Good- 
night.” 

“ Yes, and good-night to all your ambitions and 
the Holy Land too.” 

‘‘Not a bit of it! Ambition be hanged. I don’t 
care about that. But we’re going to the Holy Land 
yet, if we put it off until seventy times seven. We’ll 
wait till young Roderick’s grown up and pays us 
back, and then we’ll go. Indeed, I’m going to refuse 
positively to go to the New Jerusalem until I’ve seen 
the old 1 ” 

He swung away up the street as bright and gay 


“GREATEST OF THE THREE’’ 


49 


as though he had just accepted a fine new position 
instead of refusing one. He was so happy that he 
softly sang the hymn that had opened the good work 
of the evening. It was very appropriate : 

“ Faith and hope and love we see 
Joining hands m unity ^ 

But the greatest of the three 
And the best is love,^' 

He was passing near Jock’s house so he roared out 
the “ Amen ” in the hope that the elder had not yet 
gone to sleep. And Mrs. Leslie’s Viney declared the 
next morning that she done heah dat Lawyah Ed 
and J. P. Thornton gwine home straight ahead all de 
bressed night, and she did ’clar dey was still goin’ 
when she put on de oatmeal mush for de breakfus! 


CHAPTER III 


ufe’s young mariner 

O N a hazy August afternoon the little 
steamer Inverness, — Captain, James Mc- 
Tavish — came sailing across Lake Simcoe 
with her long white bowsprit pointing towards the 
cedar-fringed gates opening into Lake Algonquin. 
She was a trim little craft, painted all blue and white 
like the water she sailed. Captain McTavish, who 
was also her owner, had named her after his birth- 
place. He loved the little steamer, and pronounced 
her name with a tender lingering on the last syllable, 
and a softening of the consonants, that no mere 
Sassenach tongue could possibly imitate. 

There were not many passengers to-day ; the 
majority were mothers with their children, the latter 
chasing each other about the deck or clambering into 
all forbidden and dangerous places, the former sit- 
ting in the shade, darning or sewing or embroidering 
according to their station in life. A few young 
ladies sat in groups, and chatted and ate candies, or 
read and ate candies while one young man, in white 
flannels and a straw hat waited upon them with 
stools and wraps and drinks of water, and magazines, 
fetching and carrying in a most abject manner. 

50 


LIFE’S YOUNG MARINER 


51 


There was always a sad dearth of young men on 
the Inverness, except on a public holiday ; but as the 
girls said, they could always depend on Alf. He was 
Algonquin’s one young gentleman of leisure, and 
beside having a great deal of money to spend on ice- 
cream and bon-bons, had also an unlimited amount of 
good nature to spend with it. 

He seemed to be the only one on board who had 
much to do. Down below, old Sandy McTavish, the 
engineer and the captain’s brother, was seated on a 
nail keg smoking and spinning yams to a couple of 
young Indians. His assistant, Peter McDufF the 
younger, who did such work as had to be done to 
make the Inverness move, was lounging against the 
engine-room door, listening. 

Up in the little pilot house in the bow, the cap- 
tain was also at leisure. He was perched upon a 
stool watching, with deep interest and admiration, 
the young man who was guiding the wheel. 

‘‘ Ah, ha ! ye haven’t forgotten, I see ! ” he ex- 
claimed proudly, as the strong young hands gave the 
vessel a wide sweep around a little reedy island. “ I 
was wondering if you would be remembering the Sand 
Bar, indeed.” 

I’ve taken the Inverness on too many Sunday- 
school picnics to forget your lessons. Captain. 
There’s the Pine Point shoal next, and after you 
round that, you head her for the Cedars on the tip 
of Loon Island, and then straight as the crow flies 
for the Gates and then Home ! Hurrah ! ” 


52 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


He shook his straight broad shoulders with a boy- 
ish gesture of impatience, as though he would like to 
jump overboard and swim home. 

“ Eh, well, well ! It’s your father will be the 
happy man, and to think you are coming home to 
stay, too.” The captain rubbed his hands along his 
knees, joyfully. 

The young man smiled, but did not answer. His 
eager, dark eyes were turned upon the scene ahead, 
marking every dearly familiar point. Already he 
could see, through an opening in the forest, the soft 
gleam of Lake Algonquin. There was Rock Bass 
Island where he and his father and Peter Fiddle used 
to fish, and the slash in the middle of it whither he 
rowed Aunt Kirsty every August to help harvest the 
blackberries. A soft golden haze hung over the 
water, reminding him of that illusive gleam he had 
followed, one evening so long ago, when he set out to 
find the treasure at the foot of the rainbow. 

He smiled at the recollection of his childish fancy. 
For he was a man now, with a university degree, and 
far removed from any such folly. Nevertheless there 
was something in the quick movement of his strong 
brown hands, and the look of impulsive daring in his 
bright eyes, that hinted that he might be just the 
lad to launch his canoe on life’s waters and paddle 
away in haste towards the lure of a rainbow gleam. 

When Captain McTavish had answered a stream 
of questions regarding all and sundry in Algonquin, 
he left him in charge of the wheel and went rambling 


LIFE’S YOUNG MARINER 53 


over the deck on a hospitable excursion, for he re- 
garded every one on board as his especial guest. He 
had aged much in the eighteen years since he had 
joined the search party for young Roderick McRae. 
The Iwverness had been overhauled and painted and 
made smart many times in the years that had elapsed, 
but her captain had undergone no such renewing 
process. But he was still famous from one end of 
the lakes to the other for the hospitality of the Inver- 
ness, For though his eye had grown dim, it was as 
kindly as ever, and if his step was not so brisk as in 
former years, his heart was as swift to help as it had 
ever been. 

He pulled the Algonquin Chronicle out of his 
pocket, smoothed it out carefully, and moving with 
his wide swaying stride across the deck to where a 
young girl was seated alone, he offered it to her as 
“ the finest weekly paper in Canada, whatefer, and a 
good sound Liberal into the bargain.” 

The girl smiled her thanks, and, taking the paper, 
glanced over it with an indifferent eye. She was the 
only stranger on board, and had sat apart ever since 
she had left Barbay. Of course every one in Algon- 
quin knew that a new teacher had been appointed for 
the East Ward. And as school opened the next day, 
the passengers on the Inverness had rightly guessed 
that this must be she. She had been the subject of 
much discussion amongst the young ladies, for she 
was very pretty, and her blue cloth suit was cut after 
the newest city fashion, and the one young man 


54 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 

seemed in danger of presenting himself, and begging 
to be allowed to fetch and carry for her also. Sev- 
eral of the older women, with motherly hearts, had 
spoken to her, but she had continued to sit aloof, 
discouraging all advances. It was not because she 
was of an unsociable nature, but the struggle to keep 
back the tears of homesickness took all her atten- 
tion. There was no place on the little steamer where 
one might be alone, so she had sat all afternoon, with 
her back to every one gazing over the water. Never- 
theless many a pretty sight had passed her unnoticed. 
Sometimes the Inverness had slipped so close to the 
shore that the overhanging birches bent down and 
touched her fair hair with a welcoming caress, and 
again she ran away out over the tumbhng blue waves, 
where the gulls soared and dipped with a flash of 
white wings. But the strange girl’s mind was far 
away. She was fairly aching with longing for home 
— the home that was no more. And she was longing 
too for that other home — the beautiful dream home 
which was to have been hers, but which was now only 
a dream. Again and again the tears had gathered, 
but she had forced them back, striving bravely to 
give her attention to the passing beauties of land and 
lake. 

Captain Jimmie’s kindly eye had noted the 
stranger as soon as she had come on board, and he 
had set himself to make the drooping little figure and 
the big sad eyes look less forlorn. 

He had helped her on board, as she came down 


LIFE’S YOUNG MARINER 55 


from the railway station, her trunk wheeled behind 
her, and had shaken hands and welcomed her warmly 
to Algonquin, saying she would be sure to like the 
school and he knew the Miss Armstrongs would be 
very kind indeed. 

She had looked up in surprise, not yet knowing the 
wisdom of Algonquin folk concerning the doings of 
their neighbours. 

“ Och, indeed I will be knowing all about you,” the 
captain said, smiling broadly. You will be Miss 
Murray, the young leddy that’s to teach. Lawyer 
Ed — that’s Mr. Brians, you know — would be telling 
me. And you will be boarding at the Miss Arm- 
strongs’. They told me I was to be bringing you 
up,” he added, with an air of proprietorship, that 
made her feel a little less lonely. And indeed,” he 
added, with the gallant air, which was truly his own, 

it is a fortunate pair of ladies the Miss Armstrongs 
will be, whatefer.” 

Many times during the afternoon he had stopped 
beside her with a kindly word. And once he sat by 
her side and pointed out places of interest, while some 
uncertain pilot at the wheel sent the Irwerness un- 
heeded on a happy zigzag course. Yon was Hughie 
McArthur’s farm they were passing now. Hughie 
had done well. He was own nephew to the captain, 
as his eldest sister had married on Old Archie’s 
Hughie. Old Archie had been the first settler in 
these parts, and him and his wife had it hard in the 
^arly days. His father had told him many a time 


56 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


that Old Archie’s wife had walked into where Algon- 
quin now stood — they called it the Gates in those 
days, — twenty mile away if it was one, with a sack 
of wheat on her back to be ground at the mill, and 
back again with the flour, while the eldest girl, then 
only fifteen, looked after the family and the stock. 
That was when Archie was away at the front the time 
of the rebellion. Yes, it was hard times for the women 
folk in those days. Times was changed now to be 
sure. Take Hughie, now, his sister’s son. That 
was his new silo over yonder, that she could see. 
Hughie had a gasoline engine and it did everything, 
Hughie said, but get the hired man up in the morn- 
ing, and he was going to have it fixed so it would do 
that. The captain paused, pleased to see that 
Hughie’s wit was appreciated. They had the engine 
fixed to run the churn and the washer, and Hughie’s 
woman hadn’t anything to do but sit and play the 
organ or drive herself to town. And just behind yon 
strip of timber was where his father had settled first 
when they came out from Inverness. All that land 
she could see now, up to the topmost hill was the 
township of Oro, and a great place for Highlanders 
it was in the early days, though he feared it had 
sadly deteriorated. Folks said you could scarcely 
hear the Gaelic at all now. 

The captain looked at her now, trying to fix her 
attention on the little newspaper and he suddenly 
bethought himself of something else he could do for 
her and bustled away down the little steep stair. 


LIFE’S YOUNG MARINER 57 


Whenever the Inverness sighted the entrance to Lake 
Algonquin of a summer afternoon, Captain Jimmie 
went immediately below and brewed tea for the whole 
passenger list. He had always done it, and this mid- 
voyage refreshment had come to be one of the insti- 
tutions of the trip, as indispensable as the coal to 
run the engine. He appeared shortly with a huge 
teapot in one hand and a jug of hot water in the 
other, calling hospitably, Come away, and have a 
cup-a-tea, whatefer. Come away.” 

Mr. Alfred Wilbur, the young man in the white 
flannels ran to help him. The fact that he was 
given to rendering his services at all functions in 
Algonquin where tea was poured, had brought upon 
him an ignominious nickname. His title in full as 
engraved on his visiting cards, was Alfred Tennyson 
Wilbur, and a rude young man of the town had taken 
liberties with the initials, and declared they stood for 
Afternoon Tea Willie. 

It must be confessed that, while Afternoon Tea 
Willie was the most obliging young man in all Can- 
ada, he was not entirely disinterested in his desire to 
assist the captain to-day. He saw in that big tea- 
pot a chance to serve the handsome young lady with 
the city hat and the smart suit. He secured a second 
teapot and was heading her way in bustling haste 
when the captain, all unconscious, slipped in ahead 
of him, and the unkind young ladies whom poor Alf 
had slaved for all afternoon, laughed aloud over his 
discomfiture. 


58 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


As soon as the cup-a-tea had been served the cap- 
tain went back to the pilot house. They had entered 
the Channel, a toy river, low-banked and reed-fringed, 
that led by many a pretty curve into Lake Algonquin. 
Two bridges spanned the Channel at its narrowest 
part, which was named the Gates, and Captain 
Jimmie allowed no one but himself, however expert, 
to take the Inverness through here. 

Relieved from his duties, Roderick strolled away. 
Like the strange girl, he, too, had attracted much at- 
tention, especially among the young ladies, and at 
their bidding Alfred Tennyson had several times at- 
tempted to lure him into joining their circle. But 
Roderick was shy and constrained in the presence of 
young ladies. He had had no time to cultivate their 
acquaintance in his school and college days, and had 
admired them only from afar in a diffident way; so 
when Alfred approached him and begged him once 
more to come and be introduced he slipped away 
downstairs to talk with his old boyhood friend, the 
fireman. 

“Hello, Pete, we’ll soon be in Lake Algonquin!” 
he cried joyfully, as he leaned over the low door and 
watched the young man heaving coal into the Inver- 
nesses hot jaws. 

Young Peter slammed the furnace door and came 
up to get a breath of cool air. He put a black hand 
on Roderick’s arm, “ Say, I’m awful glad you’re 
home. Rod,” he said, smiling broadly. 

“ And I’m just as awful glad to be home, Pete, old. 


LIFE’S YOUNG MARINER 59 


boy. I say, do you do all the work while the Ancient 
Mariner there smokes and orders you round? ” 

The crew of the Inverness, consisting of an en- 
gineer and a fireman, was, whether in port or on the 
high seas, in a state of frank mutiny. The Ancient 
Mariner, as every one called Sandy McTavish, was 
the captain’s elder brother, and he made no secret 
of the fact that he intended to run the Inverness as he 
pleased, if he ran her to Davy Jones. Accordingly 
he smoked andl spun yarns all day long in true 
nautical fashion, and young Peter McDuff did the 
work. 

But Peter looked at Roderick puzzled, and grinned 
good naturedly. He did not understand that there 
was anything unjust in the arrangement old Sandy 
had made of the work. Poor Peter had been born 
to injustice. His father was a drunkard and the 
boy had started life dull of brain and heavy of foot. 
His slow mind had not questioned why the burdens of 
life should have been so unevenly divided. 

But Roderick McRae felt something of the tragedy 
of Peter’s handicapped life. He put his hands af- 
fectionately on the young man’s heavy shoulders. 
They had been brought up side by side on the shores 
of Lake Algonquin, but how different their lots had 
been ! 

‘‘ Ah, it’s all a hard job for you, Pete, old boy ! ” 
he cried. 

Peter’s dull eyes lit up. 

“Oh, no, it ain’t! Jt will be a great job. Rod. 


60 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 

Your father would be getting it for me. Your 
father’s been awful good to us, Rod. Say, tell me 
about the city. Is it an awful big place ? ” 

Roderick studied the young man’s heavy face, as 
he talked. Here was one of his father’s neighbours 
of the Jericho Road. For twenty years or more, he 
could remember his father struggling to bring Peter 
Fiddle to a life of sobriety and righteousness and to 
bring up his son in the same. And what had he to 
show for it all.? Old Peter was a worse drunkard 
than he had been twenty years ago, and poor Young 
Peter was the hopeless result of that drinking. Rod- 
erick’s kindly heart sympathised with his father’s 
efforts, but his head pronounced judgment upon 
them. He confessed he could see very little use in 
bothering with the sort of folk that were forever 
stumbling on the Jericho Roads of life. 

Peter went back reluctantly to the engine-room, 
and Roderick ran up on deck to see the Inverness 
enter the Gates. He had not been home for a whole 
long year, and he was eager as a child to get the 
first glimpse of Algonquin and the little cove where 
the old farm lay. 

As he was passing round to the wheel-house, he 
noticed again the young stranger who had come on 
board at Barbay. He had been puzzled then by 
the recollection of having seen her before, and he 
walked slowly, looking at her and trying to recall 
where and when it could have been. As he ap- 
proached, she turned in his direction, her eyes fol- 


LIFE’S YOUNG MARINER 61 


lowing the sweep of a gull’s white wing, and he recog- 
nised her. He remembered her quite distinctly, for 
he could count on his fingers the number of young 
ladies he had met in his busy college days, and Miss 
Murray was not one that could be easily forgotten. 
He stood at the railing and recalled the scene. It 
had been at the home of Mrs. Carruthers, Billy 
Parker’s aunt. That kind lady made it a blessed 
habit to invite hungry students to her home on Sun- 
day nights. And the suppers she gave! Billy had 
taken Roderick that evening, and there were a half- 
dozen more. And this Miss Murray had dropped 
in after church with Richard Wells. Wells was a 
medical in his last year, and Roderick had met him 
often before. Miss Murray had worn some sort of 
soft white dress, he remembered, and a big white hat, 
and she had been very bright and gay then, not sad 
and pensive as she seemed now. 

He did not realise that he was staring intently at 
her, while he recalled all this, until she turned and 
looked at him. She gave a start of surprised recog- 
nition mingled with something of dismay. For an 
instant she looked irresolute; then she bowed, and 
Roderick came quickly forward. She gave him her 
hand, a vague look in her deep grey-blue eyes. She 
remembered him ; Roderick’s appearance was too 
striking to be easily forgotten ; but it was plain she 
could not recall where. 

“ It was a Sunday evening, last fall — at Mrs. Car- 
ruthers’,” he stammered. She smiled reassuringly. 


62 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 

‘‘ Oh, yes, it was stupid of me to forget. You 
were in law, weren’t you ? ” 

“ Yes, in my last year. I’m just on my way home 
now, to practise in Algonquin. Are you going to 
visit friends here? ” 

‘‘ No, I’m going to teach.” She did not seem to 
want to speak of herself. “ Algonquin is a very 
pretty place, I hear.” 

“ It’s is the most lovely place in Canada,” said 
Roderick enthusiastically. He was not as shy in 
her presence as he usually was with young women. 
He could not help seeing, that for some unac- 
countable reason, she was embarrassed at meeting 
him, and her distress made him forget himself. He 
tried to put her at her ease in a flurried way. 

‘‘ How people scatter ! The half-dozen that were 
at Mrs. Carruthers’ that night are all over the world. 
Billy Parker’s gone to Victoria to practise law, and 
Withers is in Germany, and Wells, — he graduated 
with honours, didn’t he? Where did Dick Wells 
go ? ” 

Roderick had no sooner uttered the name than he 
saw he had made a mistake. The girl’s face flushed ; 
a slow colour creeping up over neck and brow and 
dyeing her cheeks crimson. But she looked up at 
him with brave steady eyes as she answered quietly: 

“ I am not sure where he is. I heard he had gone 
to Montreal.” And when she had said it she became 
as white as the dainty lawn blouse she wore. 

Roderick made a blundering attempt to apologise 


LIFE’S YOUNG MARINER 63 


for something, he scarcely knew what, and only made 
matters worse. 

“ I — I beg your pardon,” he said, “ I shouldn’t 
have asked — but I thought — we understood — at least 
I mean Billy said,” he floundered about hopelessly, 
and she came to his aid, 

“ That Dr. Wells and I were engaged? ” She was 
looking at him directly now, sitting erect with a 
sparkle in her eye. 

“ Yes,” he whispered. 

‘‘ It was true — then. But it is not now.” 

‘‘ I am so sorry I spoke — ” faltered Roderick. 

“You need hot be,” she broke in. “It was quite 
natural — only — ” she looked at him keenly for a 
moment as though taking his measure. “ May I ask 
a favour of you, Mr. McRae? ” 

“ Oh, yes, I should be so glad,” he broke out, 
anxious to make amends. 

“ Then if you would be so good as to make no 
mention of — of this. I shall be living in Algonquin 
now for some time probably.” 

She stopped falteringly. She could not confess to 
this strange young man that she had come away to 
this little town where no one knew her just to escape 
the curiosity and pity of acquaintances and friends, 
and that she was dismayed at meeting one on its .very 
threshold who knew her secret. She was relieved 
to find him more anxious to keep it than she her- 
self. 

He assured her that he would not even think of it 


64) THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


again, and then he stumbled upon a remark about the 
fishing in Lake Algonquin, and the duck-shooting, 
two things, he recollected afterwards, in which she 
could not possibly be interested, and finally he made 
his escape. He leaned over the bow, watching the 
channel opening out its green arms to the Inverness, 
and tried to recall all that he had heard about Dick 
Wells. Billy Parker, who knew all college gossip, 
had told him much to which he had scarcely listened. 
But he remembered something concerning a broken 
engagement. Wells was to have been married in 
June to the pretty Miss Murray, Billy had said. 
She had her trousseau all ready, and then Dick had 
gone on a trip to the Old Country alone. No one 
knew the reason, though Billy had declared it was 
the same old reason — “ Another girl.” 

Roderick McRae’s chivalry had never before been 
called into action where young women were con- 
cerned. Now he felt something new and strong ris- 
ing within him. He was suddenly filled with the old 
spirit which sent a knight out upon the highway to 
do doughty deeds for the honour of a lady, or to 
right her wrongs. His warm heart was filled with 
conflicting emotions, rage at himself for having 
brought the hurt look into those soft blue eyes, rage 
at Wells for being the primary cause of it, and 
underneath all a strange, quite unreasonable, feeling 
of exhilaration over the fact that he and the girl with 
the golden hair and the sad eyes had a secret between 
them. 


LIFE’S YOUNG MARINER 65 


They were in the Gates now, passing slowly 
through the railroad bridge. The softly tinted 
glassy water of Lake Algonquin, with the green 
islands mirrored in its clear depths was opening out 
to view. The channel too, was clear and still like 
crystal, save where the swell from the bows of the 
Inverness rolled away to the low shore and set the 
bulrushes nodding a stately welcome. The echoes 
of the little engine clattered away into the deep 
woods, startlingly clear. An ugly brown bittern, 
with a harsh exclamation of surprise at the intrusion 
into his quiet domain, shot across the bow and dis- 
appeared into the swamp. A great heron sailed 
majestically down the channel ahead of the boat, his 
broad blue wings gleaming in the sunlight. It was all 
so still and beautiful that a sense of peace and con- 
tent awoke in Roderick’s heart. 

The Inverness was making her way slowly towards 
the second bridge. The channel was very narrow 
and shallow here and the captain’s little whistle that 
communicated with the powers below was squeaking 
frantically. Just as the bridge began to turn, a man 
in a mud-splashed buggy dashed up, a moment too 
late to cross, and stood there holding his horse, which 
went up indignantly on its heels every time the Inver- 
ness snorted. His fair face was darkened with 
anger, his blue eyes were blazing. He leaned over 
the dashboard and shook his fist at the little wheel- 
house which held the captain. 

“Get along there you, Jimmie McTavish!” he 


66 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


roared in a voice that was rich and musical even in 
its anger. Can’t you see I’m in a hurry, you 
thundering old mud- turtle? I could sail a ship 
across the Atlantic while you are dawdling here. Get 
out of my road, I tell you! I’ve got to be in town 
before that five train goes out, and here’s that old 
dromedary of yours stuck in the mud. — How? 
What? Oh, what in the name of — ? ” He choked, 
spluttering with wrath, for with a final squeak the 
Inverness stopped altogether. 

The captain darted out of the wheel-house to call 
down an indignant enquiry of the Ancient Mariner 
as to the cause of the delay. Much sailing in all 
weathers in the keen air of the northern lakes had 
ruined Captain McTavish’s voice, which, at best, had 
never been intended for any part but a high soprano. 
And now it was almost inaudible with anger. It ill 
became the dignity of a sea captain to be thus pub- 
licly berated in the presence of his passengers. 

“ If ye’d whisht ye’re noise,” he screamed, I’d be 
movin’ queek enough. Come away, Sandy! Come 
away, Peter, man ! ” 

For all his sailing, the captain was a true lands- 
man, and when under pressure his thin nautical 
veneer slipped off him, and his language was not of 
the sea. 

“ Come away, Sandy,” he called artlessly, and 
gee her a bit. Gee! ” 

I can have the law on you for obstructing the 
King’s Highway ! ” thundered the man on the bridge. 


LIFE’S YOUNG MARINER 67 


‘‘ The water will be jist as much the King’s High- 
way as the road ! ” retorted the captain indignantly. 
“ If you would be leafing other folks’ business alone, 
and attending to your own, you would be knowing 
the law better. It is a rule of the sea that effery 
vessel — ” 

“ The sea ! ” the enemy burst in with an overwhelm- 
ing roar. “ The sea ! A vessel ! A miserable fish 
pond, and an old tub like that, the sea and a vessel! 
Get away with you ! Get out of my sight ! ” 

He waved a hand as if he would wipe the Inverness 
from off the face of the waters. 

During the altercation, Roderick McRae had been 
leaning far over the railing, striving to attract the 
attention of the madman in the buggy. But his voice 
was drowned in the laughter and cheers of the pas- 
sengers who were enjoying the battle immensely. At 
this moment he put his fingers to his teeth and ut- 
tered a long, sharp whistle. “ Ho ! Lawyer Ed ! ” 
he shouted. The man on the bridge started. His 
angry face, with the quickness of lightning, broke 
into radiance. 

“ Roderick ! — ^Rod ! Are you there ? Hooray ! ” 
He caught off his hat and waved it in the air. “ Come 
on home with me! I dare you to jump it! ” 

The Inverness was at a perilous distance from 
the bridge, but the young man did not hesitate a mo- 
ment before the half-laughing challenge. He leaped 
lightly upon the railing, poised a moment and, with 
a mighty spring, landed upon the bridge. The on- 


68 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 

lookers gave a gasp and then a relieved and admiring 
cheer. 

Another spring put Roderick into the buggy, 
where his friend hammered him on the back, and they 
laughed like a couple of school-boys. And that was 
what they really were, for though Roderick McRae 
was nearly twenty-four, he was feeling like a boy in 
his home-coming joy, and as for Lawyer Ed he hadn’t 
grown an hour older, either in feeling or appearance, 
but lived perennially somewhere near the joyous age 
of eighteen. 

Meanwhile the real captain of the Inverness had 
begun to bestir himself. The Ancient Mariner cared 
not the smallest lump of coal that went into the fur- 
nace door for the command of his brother-captain; 
but he had a wholesome fear of Lawyer Ed, and 
doubted the wisdom of rousing him again. So he 
gave an order to Peter, and with a great deal of boil- 
ing and churning of the water the Inverness slowly 
began to move. The bridge, worked by a dozen 
youngsters who always roosted there, began to turn 
into place. With a defiant yell of her whistle, the 
Inverness sailed out of the Gates, and the buggy 
dashed across the bridge and away down the dusty 
road. But though Lawyer Ed was bubbling over 
with good humour now, he turned, Marmion like, to 
shake his gauntlet of defiance at the retreating vessel, 
and to call out insulting remarks to which the cap- 
tain responded with spirit. 

“ Well inteet,” said the Ancient Mariner, as he 


LIFERS YOUNG MARINER 69 


settled once more to his pipe, “ it will be a great 
peety that Lawyer Ed has neither the Gawlic nor the 
profanity, for when he will be getting into a rage he 
will jist be no use at all, at all! ” 

All unconscious of his verbal deficiencies, and up- 
roariously happy. Lawyer Ed sped away down the 
Pine Road towards town. He had been looking for- 
ward for a long time to this day, when Roderick 
should come back to Algonquin to be his partner. 

“ It’s great to see you again. Lad,” he exclaimed 
joyfully, surveying the young man’s fine figure and 
frank face with pride. “ I was getting nervous for 
fear you were going West after all.” 

‘‘ I can’t pretend I didn’t want to go,” he con- 
fessed, though I didn’t like the idea of another 
fellow in my place in your ofl5ce. You s^e I’m a 
good bit of a dog in the manger, and when Father’s 
last letter arrived I felt I must come.” 

“ That’s right, my boy. Your piace is with your 
father just now. And you’re looking as fine and fit 
as if you’d been away camping.” 

‘‘ I’m ready for anything. You and J. P. Thorn- 
ton can start for the Holy Land to-morrow.” 

“ I prophesied once, about a score or so years ago, 
that I’d go when you could manage my practice, and 
I’ll be hanged if I don’t think it’s coming true. 
J. P.’s talking about it, anyway. Does your arm 
ever bother you now.f^ ” 

Roderick doubled up his right fist, stretched out his 
arm, and slowly drew it up, showing his splendid 


70 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


muscle. Sometimes, but not anything to bother 
about, only a twinge once in a while when it’s damp. 
I can still paddle my good canoe, and if you’d 
like a boxing bout — ” he turned and squared up 
to his friend, receiving a lightning-like blow that 
nearly knocked him into the road. And the two 
went off into an uproarious sparring match like a 
couple of youngsters. 

Lawyer Ed had never yet married though he still 
made love to every woman, girl and baby in Algon- 
quin. But Roderick McRae had grown to he like 
a son to him, filling every desire of his big warm 
heart, and now the proud day had come when his 
boy was to be his partner. He and Angus had 
talked for hours of the wonderful things that were 
to be accomplished in the town and church and on 
the Jericho Roed when the Lad came home, and had 
laid great plan^ at which the Lad himself only 
guessed. They had feared for a time that all were 
to be ruined T^hen, after his graduation, he had been 
kept in the city in the employ of a firm, and had re- 
ceived from them an offer of a position in the West. 
But he had refused, to their joy, and was to settle in 
Algonquin and relieve Lawyer Ed of his altogether 
too burdensome practice. ' 

As they spun along, for the five-o’clock train was 
still to be caught, the elder man poured out all the 
news of the town; J. P.’s last great speech, Algon- 
quin’s lacrosse victories, the latest battle in the ses- 
sion, — for Jock McPherson was still a valiant and 


LIFE’S YOUNG MARINER 71 


stubborn objector, — the last tea-meeting at McClin- 
tock’s Corners, where the Highland Quartette, of 
whom Lawyer Ed was leader, had sung, the errand 
over to Indian Head, where he had just been, etc., 
etc. It was not half told when they came to the 
point in the road opposite Roderick’s home, and the 
Lad leaped down, promising to run up to the office 
that night when he went into town for his trunk. 

He lost no time on the rest of the journey. It 
was a dash through the dim woods where the white 
Indian Pipes raised their tiny, waxen tapers, and the 
squirrels skirled indignantly at him from the tree- 
tops ; a leap across the stream where the water- 
lilies made a fairy bridge of green and gold, a 
scramble through the underbrush, and he was at the 
edge of the little pasture-field, and saw the old home 
buried in orchard trees, and Aunt Kirsty’s garden a 
blaze of sun-flowers and asters. And there at the 
gate, gazing eagerly down the lane in quite the wrong 
direction, stood his father ! 

The years had told heavily on the Good Samari- 
tan, and Roderick’s loving eye could detect changes 
even in the last year of his absence. Old Angus’s tall 
figure was stooped and thin, and he carried a staff, 
but he still held up his head as though facing the 
skies, and his eyes were as young and as kindly as 
ever. The Lad gave a boyish shout and came bound- 
ing towards him. The old man dropped his stick 
and held out both his hands. He said not a word, 
but his eyes spoke very eloquently all his pride and 


72 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


joy and love. He put his two hands on his son’s 
head and uttered a low prayer of thanksgiving. 

Aunt Kirsty came bustling out as fast as her ac- 
cumulating flesh would permit. Poor Aunt Kirsty 
had grown to a great bulk these later days and could 
not hurry, but indeed had she used up all the energy 
on moving forward that she mistakenly put into 
swaying violently from side to side, she would have 
made tremendous speed. Roderick ran to meet her, 
and she took him into her ample bosom and kissed 
him and patted him on the back and poured out a 
dozen Gaelic synonyms for darling, and then shoved 
him away, and burying her face in her apron, began 
to cry because he was such a man and not her baby 
any more ! 

The father’s heart was too full for words; but 
after supper when they sat out on the porch in the 
soft misty twihght, he found many things to ask, and 
many questions to answer. Roderick sat on the step 
facing the lake, filled with a great content. The sun- 
set gleam of the water through the darkening trees, 
the soft plaintive call of the phoebes from the woods, 
the sleepy drone of Bossy’s bell from the pasture, and 
the scents of the garden made up the atmosphere of 
home. 

“ Well, well, and you have come to stay,” his father 
said for the tenth time, rubbing his hands along his 
knee in ecstasy, “ to stay.” 

“ It’ll be great to know that I don’t have to run 
away at the end of the summer, won’t it.? ” 


LIFE’S YOUNG MARINER 73 


“ It’ll jist be the answer to all my prayers, Lad. 
I feel I am no use in the world at ah, now that you 
have made me give up aU work.” He gave his son a 
glance of loving reproach. For while Roderick had 
managed to get his education, he had managed too, to 
do wonderful things with the little farm, so that his 
father had long ago given up the work he had re- 
sumed after his year’s illness. And Aunt Kirsty had 
a servant-girl in the kitchen now, and devoted all her 
time to her garden and her Bible. 

You’ve jist made your father a useless old body. 
But I jist can’t be minding, for I see how you can 
be taking up all my work. There’s the Jericho Road 
waiting for you. Lad.” 

The young man smiled indulgently. “ And what 
do you think I can do there. Father Unless Mike 
Cassidy goes to law as usual.” 

“Ah, but is jist you that can. Edward will be 
finding great opportunities for helping folk and he 
has not the time now. There’s that poor bit Eng- 
lish body, Perkins, and his family, and there’s Mike 
as you say, though Father Tracy would be straight- 
ening him up something fine. But you must jist see 
that he doesn’t go to law any more. And then there’s 
poor Peter Fiddle.” 

The younger man laughed. “ Peter is the kind of 
poor we have with us always. Dad. Is he behaving 
any better? ” 

“ Och, indeed I sometime think I see a decided im- 
provement,” exclaimed Old Angus, with the optimism 


74 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


that had refused to give Peter Fiddle up through 
years of drunkenness and failure. “We must jist 
keep hold of him, and the good Lord will save Peter 
yet, never fear.” 

Roderick was silent. Personally he had no faith 
in Peter McDufF the elder. He had gone on through 
the years fiddling and singing and telling stories, 
his drunken sprees showing a constantly diminishing 
interval between. Every one in Algonquin, except 
Angus McRae, had given him up long ago, but his 
old friend still held on to him with a faith which 
was really the only thing that kept old Peter from 
complete ruin. But Roderick had the impatience of 
youth with failure, and though he had inherited his 
father’s warm heart, he was not at all happy at the 
thought of becoming guardian of all the poor unfor- 
tunates of the town who in one way or the other had 
fallen among thieves. 

“ Eh yes, yes, there is a great ministry for you 
here. Lad. I have sometimes been sorry that you 
did not feel called to the preaching, but I was jist 
thinking the last time Edward and I talked the work 
over, that I was glad now you hadn’t. For you will 
be able to help the poor folk that need you jist as 
well here, though I would be far from putting any- 
thing above the preaching of the Gospel. But there 
will be many ways of preaching the Gospel, Lad, 
and the lawyer has a great chance. It will be by 
jist being neighbour to the folk in want. Folk go 
more often to the lawyer or the doctor, Archie Blair 


LIFE’S YOUNG MARINER 75 


says, when they are in trouble, than they do to their 
minister, and I am afraid it’s true. And a great 
many of the folk that will come to you to get you to 
do their business. Lad, will be folk in trouble, many 
who have fallen among thieves on the Jericho Road, 
and you will be pouring in the oil and the wine that 
the dear Lord has given you, and you will be doing 
it all in His name.” He sighed happily. “ Oh, 
yes, indeed and indeed, it will be a great ministry, 
Roderick, my son.” 

Roderick was silent. His heart was touched. 
He resolved he would do the best he could for any 
friend of his father who was in trouble. But his 
eye was set on far prospects of great achievement, 
where Algonquin and the Jericho Road had no place. 

Their talk was interrupted by Aunt Kirsty, who 
came to the door to demand of him what he had 
done with his clothes. Had he come home, the ras- 
cal, with nothing but what was on his back after the 
six pairs of new socks she had sent him only last 
spring? 

Roderick sprang up. “ My trunk ! It will be 
on the wharf. I yelled at Peter to put it off there, 
just as we were driving away, and said I’d paddle 
over and get it. I forgot all about it. Aunt Kirsty.” 
The father and son looked at each other and smiled. 
It was easy to forget when they were together. 

“ I’ll go after it right now. It’s mostly old books 
and soiled clothes. Auntie, but there’s one nice thing 
in it. You ought to see the peach of a shawl I got 


76 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


you.” He ran in for his cap, and she followed him 
to the door, scolding him for his foolish extrava- 
gance, but not deceiving any one into thinking that 
she was not highly pleased. 

Angus stood long at the water’s edge watching the 
Lad’s canoe slip away out on the mirror of the lake. 
The shore was growing dark, but the water still re- 
flected the rose of the sunset. The soft dip of his 
paddle disturbed its stillness and a long golden track 
marked the road he was taking out into the light. 
Away ahead of him, beyond the network of islands, 
shone the glory of the departing day. The Lad was 
paddling straight for the Gleam. The father’s mind 
went back to that evening of stormy radiance, when 
the little fellow had paddled away to find the rainbow 
gold. 

His eyes followed the straight, alert young figure 
yearningly. He was praying that in the voyage of 
life before him, his boy might never be led away by 
false lights. He recalled the words of the poem 
Archie Blair had recited the evening before at a 
young folks’ meeting in the town. 

“ Not of the svmlight 
Not of the moonlight 
Not of the starlight. 

Oh young Mariner, 

Down to the haven. 

Call your companions 
Launch your vessel 


LIFE’S YOUNG MARINER 77 


And crowd yonr canvas 
And e'er it vanish 
Over the margin 
After it; follow it; 

Follow the gleam! ” 

It held the burden of his prayer for the Lad; 
that, ever unswerving, he might follow the true 
Gleam until he found it, shining on the forehead of 
the blameless King. 


CHAPTER IV 


SIDE LIGHTS 

R oderick was not thinking of that Gleam 
upon which his father’s mind was set, as 
he glided silently out upon the golden mir- 
ror of Lake Algonquin. The still wonder of the 
glowing lake and sky and the mystery of the dark- 
ening shore and islands carried his thoughts somehow 
to a new wonder and dream; the light that had 
shone in the girl’s brave eyes, the colour that had 
flooded her face at his awkward words. They were 
beautiful eyes but sad, and there were tints in her 
hair hke the gold on the water, Roderick had 
known scarcely any young women. His life had been 
too busy for that — ^when he was away, books had 
claimed all his attention, when he was home, the 
farm. But in the background of his consciousness, 
shadowy and unformed, but none the less present, 
dwelt a vague picture of his ideal woman ; the woman 
that was to be his one day. She was really the pic- 
ture of his mother, as painted by his father’s hand, 
and as memory furnished a light here or a detail 
there. Roderick had not had time to think of his 
ideal; his heart was a boy’s heart still — untried 
78 


SIDE LIGHTS 


79 


and unspoiled, but this evening her shadowy fdrm 
seemed to have become more definite, and it wore 
golden brown hair and had sad blue-grey eyes. 

He swept silently around the end of Wanda 
Island, and his dreams were suddenly interrupted 
by a startling sight; for directly in front of him, 
just between the little bay and the lake beyond, 
bobbed an upturned canoe and two heads ! 

To the youthful native of Algonquin an upset 
into the lake was not a serious matter; and to the 
young lady and gentleman swimming about their 
capsized craft, the affair, up to a few moments pre- 
vious, had been rather a good joke. How it had 
happened that two such expert canoeists as Leslie 
Graham and Fred Hamilton could fall out of any- 
thing that sailed the water, was a question those who 
knew them could not have solved. They had been 
over to Mondamin Island to gather golden-rod and 
asters for a party the young lady was to give the 
next evening. They had been paddling merrily 
homeward, the space between them piled with their 
purple and gplden treasure, and as they paddled 
they talked, or rather the young lady did, for where 
Miss Leslie Graham was, no one else had much chance 
to say anything. 

‘‘ There’s the Irvcerness at the dock,” she said, 
when they came within view of the town. “ Aunt 
Elinor’s boarder must have come on it, the girl that’s 
going to teach in Miss Hasting’s room.” 


80 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


“ I thought your aunt said you weren’t to call 
her a boarder.” 

The girl put her paddle across the canoe and 
leaned back with a burst of laughter. She was hand- 
some at any time, but particularly so when she 
laughed, showing a row of perfect teeth and a merry 
gleam in her black eyes. 

‘‘Poor old Auntie! Isn’t she a joke.^^ She’s 
scared the family escutcheon of the Armstrongs will 
be sullied forever with the blot of a boarder on it. 
Auntie Bell is nearly as bad too. My 1 I hope they 
won’t expect us to trot her around in our set.” 

“ Why ? ” asked young Mr. Hamilton. He was 
always interested in new girls. 

“ Too many girls in it already. You know that, 
Fred Hamilton.” 

“ Well, I say, I believe you’re right, Les,” he 
ventured, but with some hesitation. He was a rather 
nice young fellow, with the inborn idea that, theo- 
retically, there couldn’t be too many girls, but there 
was no denying the fact that Algonquin seemed to 
have more than her fair share. Only, Leslie was 
always so startlingly truthful, it was sometimes 
rather disconcerting to hear one’s half-formed 
thoughts spoken out incisively as was her way. 

“ There does seem to be an awful swarm of them,” 
he admitted reluctantly, “ especially since the Har- 
risons and the Wests came to town. I danced twen- 
ty-five times without drawing breath at Polly’s last 


SIDE LIGHTS 


81 


spree, and never twice with the same girl. Where 
did she pick ’em all up, anyway ? ” 

That was the last remark they could remember 
having made. And the girl was wont to explain that 
the thing which happened next was a just judgment 
upon the young man for uttering such sentiments, 
and a fearful warning for his future. But the most 
elaborate explanations could never quite solve the 
mystery, for they never knew how it chanced that 
the next moment the canoe was over and they were 
in the water. To a girl of Algonquin, a canoe upset 
was inexcusable; to a boy, a disgrace never to be 
lived down. So when Leslie Graham and Fred Ham- 
ilton, who had been born and brought up on the 
shores of the lake and had learned to swim and walk 
simultaneously, found themselves in the water, the 
first expression in their eyes, after an instant’s 
startled surprise, was one of indignation. 

What on earth did you do ? ” gasped the girl, 
and “ What on earth did you do ? ” sputtered the boy. 

And then, being the girl she was, Leslie Graham 
burst out laughing, ‘ What on the water,’ would 
be more appropriate. Well, Fred Hamilton, I never 
thought you’d upset ! ” 

“ I didn’t ! ” he cried indignantly. “ Ypu jumped, 
I saw you.” 

“ Jumped ! I never did ! And even if I did, I 
don’t see why you should have turned a somer- 
sault. I could dance the Highland Fling in a canoe 


82 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


and not upset. Oh dear ! all my flowers are gone ! ” 
They put their hands on the upturned craft and 
floated easily. 

What are you going to do about it ? ” she asked. 

We’re a long way from shore, and the walking’s 
damp.” 

He glanced about. They were a good distance 
from land, but the only danger he anticipated was 
the danger of a rescue. He would be disgraced for- 
ever if some fellow paddled out from home and picked 
them up. But a little island lay between them and 
the town, screening them from immediate exposure. 

“ Do.J^ Why, just hop in again. Here, help me 
heave her over!” 

Many a time in younger days, just for fun, they 
had pitched themselves out of their canoe, righted 
it again, ‘‘ scooped ” and rocked ” the water out, 
and scrambled back over bow and stem. But that 
was always when they wore bathing suits and there 
were no paddles and cushions floating about to be 
collected. But they were ready for even this diffi- 
cult feat. They tumbled the canoe over to its proper 
position, and the young man, by balancing him- 
self upon one end and swimming rapidly, sent the 
stern up into the air and scooped ” most of the 
water out. Then they rocked it violently from side 
to side, to empty the remainder, while the girl 
sang gaily Rocked in the Cradle of the Deep,” her 
dancing eyes no less bright than the water drops 
glistening on her black curly hair. 


SIDE LIGHTS 


But the emptying process was longer than they 
had anticipated, and the evening air was growing 
cool. By the time the canoe was ready to enter, the 
girl had stopped singing. 

“ Hustle up, Freddie ! ” she called, giving a little 
shiver, as he shot away through the water for a pad- 
dle. “ This water’s getting wetter every minute.” 
When he returned, he placed himself at the stern 
and the girl at the bow. 

“ Now,” he cried, when I say go, you climb like 
a cat, Les. Don’t hurry, just crawl in easy. 
Ready ? Go ! ” 

She placed her hands on the gunwale and drew 
herself up, while her companion, with an eye on her 
progress, slowly crawled over the stern. 

But the heavy drag of her soaked cloth skirt was 
too much for the girl’s strength. She paused, failed 
at the critical moment, slipped to one side, and they 
were once more in the water, the canoe bottom up. 

‘‘ Oh, hang ! ” exclaimed the young man. Then 
apologetically, “ Never mind, heave her over, and 
we’ll do it again.” 

But the girl’s teeth had begun to chatter, and the 
work of emptying the canoe the second time was not 
such a joke. And the second attempt to get in and 
the third also proved a failure. 

‘‘ What’s the matter, anyhow ? ” grumbled the boy 
impatiently. ‘‘ You’ve done that three times, Les- 
lie!” 

He was amazed and dismayed to see her lip quiver. 


84 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


“ I can’t do it, Fred. I’m all tired out. I — I be- 
lieve I’m going to yell for help.” 

“ Oh, Great Scott, Leslie ! ” groaned the young 
man. Then encouragingly, You’re all right. 
Cheer up ! I’ll get you into this thing in no time.” 

He set to work again briskly, but though the girl 
helped, it was without enthusiasm. She was going 
through an entirely new experience. In all her 
happy life, untouched by sorrow or privation of any 
kind, she had never felt the need of help. Fred and 
she had been chums since they were babies, and were 
going to be married some day, perhaps. Fred was 
a good, jolly fellow, he was well off, well-dressed, 
and quite the leader of all the young men of the 
town. But now, for the first time, her dauntless gay 
spirit was forsaking her, and a vision of how inade- 
quate Fred might be in time of stress was coming 
dimly to her awakening woman’s heart. She would 
almost rather have drowned than play the coward. 
But she wanted Fred to be afraid for her. She was 
more of a woman than she knew. 

And then, just as a wave of fear was coming over 
her, Roderick McRae, in his canoe, came out around 
the point and paddled straight towards them. 

She gave a cry of joyful relief. ‘‘A canoe! Oh, 
look, Fred! Somebody’s coming this way from Mc- 
Rae’s cove ! ” 

The young man turned with some apprehension 
mingling with his joy. He would almost as soon be 
detected appropriating funds from the bank where 


SIDE LIGHTS 


85 


he clerked, as be caught in this ignominious plight. 
There was just a slight sense of relief, however, for 
they had been a long time in the water. But he 
would not admit that. 

‘‘ Pshaw ! ” he grumbled. ‘‘ I wish they’d waited 
a minute longer.” 

Well, I don’t! ” cried his companion tremulously. 

The boy looked across the canoe at her. Never, 
in the twenty years he had known Leslie Graham in- 
timately, had he before seen her daunted. 

“What’s up.?” he demanded. “You’re not los- 
ing your nerve, Leslie .? ” 

“No, I’m not!” she snapped, trying desperately 
to hide an unexpected quaver in her voice. “ But — ” 

“ You’re not chilled, are you.? ” 

“ No. Not much.” 

“ Nor cramped? ” 

“ No.” 

“ Well, you’re all right then. Goodness, you’ve 
been in the water hours longer than this, heaps of 
times. Cheer up, old girl, you’re aU right. What’s 
the matter, anyhow? ” 

But she did not answer, for she hardly knew her- 
self. She had no real fear of being drowned, that 
seemed impossible. But strange new feelings had 
begun to stir in the heart, that so far had been only 
the care-free heart of a girl, almost the heart of a 
daring boy. She did not realise that what she really 
wanted was that Fred should be solicitous about her. 
If he had shown the slightest anxiety over her she 


86 THE END OE THE RAINBOW 


would have become recklessly daring. But young 
Fred would as soon have shown tender care for a 
frisky young porpoise in the water, as Leslie, even 
had it been his nature to care unduly for any one 
but Fred Hamilton. 

The canoe was approaching swiftly, and the man 
in it was near enough to be recognised. ‘‘ I say,” 
cried Fred, “ it’s Rod McRae. I didn’t know he was 
home. Ship ahoy, there ! ” he shouted gaily. 
“ Hurrah, and give us a lift ; it’s too damp for the 
lady to walk home ! ” 

Leslie Graham looked at the approaching canoe- 
ist. She and Fred Hamilton had both attended the 
same school, Sunday-school and church as Roderick 
McRae. But she could remember him but dimly as 
an awkward country boy, in her brief High School 
days, before she ‘‘ finished ” with a year at a city 
boarding-school. Her life at school had been aU fun 
and mischief, and rushing away from irksome lessons 
to more fun at home; his had been all serious hard 
work, and rushing away from the fascination of his 
lessons to harder work on the farm. Fred Hamilton 
had never worked at school, but he knew him better ; 
the free-masonry of boyhood had made that possible. 

“Why,, what’s happened.?” cried Roderick as he 
swept alongside the wreck. “ Fred Hamilton ! 
Surely you’re not upset.? ” 

“ Doesn’t look like it, does it .? ” enquired the young 
man in the water rather sarcastically. “ Here, give 
this thing a hoist, will you, Rod.? I can’t under- 


SIDE LIGHTS 


87 


stand how such an idiotic thing happened? Miss 
Graham and I were paddling along as steadily as 
you are now, and — ” 

But Roderick was paying no attention to him. 
He was looking at the girl hanging to the upturned 
canoe, her eyes grieved and frightened. With a 
quick stroke he placed himself at her side. 

“ Why, you’re all tired out,” he cried. ‘‘ You 
must get in here.” 

She looked up at him gratefully. She had never 
realised how welcome a sympathetic voice could sound. 
She answered, not the least like the dauntless Les- 
lie, “ I just can’t! I can’t climb over the bow. It’s 
no use trying.” 

Roderick was at his best where any one was in dis- 
tress. His knightly young heart prompted him to 
do the right thing. 

You don’t need to,” he said gently. I can 
take you in over the side. Here, Fred, come round 
and help.” 

Fred came to her, and Roderick slipped down into 
the bottom of the canoe. He leaned heavily to the 
side opposite the girl, and extended his hand. 
‘‘ Now, you can do it quite easily,” he said encour- 
agingly. “ Catch the thwart ; there — ^no, sideways 
— ^that’s it! Steady, Fred, don’t hurry her. There 
you are. Now!” She had rolled in somehow over 
the side, and sat soaked and heavy, half-laughing 
and half-tearful, right at his feet. 

“ Oh,” she said, I’m making you all wet.” 


88 THE END OE THE RAINBOW 


“ Well, that’s the neatest ever,” cried Fred Ham- 
ilton in involuntary admiration. 

The work of emptying the other canoe, with the 
help of such an expert, was an easy matter. When 
it was ready Roderick held it while Fred tumbled in. 
Stray cushions and paddles, and even an armful of 
soaking golden-rod were rescued, and then the two 
young men looked involuntarily at the girl. 

“ Hop over the fence, Leslie ! ” cried Fred. He 
was in high good humour now, for Rod McRae would 
never tell on a fellow, or chaff him in public about 
an upset. 

But Leslie Graham shook her head. Something 
strange had happened, she had grown very quiet and 
grave. 

“ No,” she said in a low voice, “ I don’t want any 
more adventures to-night. You’ll take me home, 
won’t you — Roderick.'^ ” She hesitated just a mo- 
ment over the name, but remembering she had called 
him that at school, she ventured. 

“ It would give me the greatest pleasure,” he cried 
cordially. His diffidence had all vanished, he was 
master of the situation. 

He glanced half-enquiringly at the other young 
man, to see relief expressed quite frankly on his face. 

“ All right, Leslie ! Thanks ever so. Rod. I can 
scoot over to the boathouse and get some dry togs, 
before I go home. And say — you won’t say any- 
thing about this now, Les, will you? ” 

The girl’s spirits were returning. “ Why not? ” 


SIDE LIGHTS 89 

she asked teasingly. It wouldn’t be fair to keep 
such a gallant rescue a secret.” 

“ Oh, please don’t ! ” cried Roderick in dismay. 

‘‘ But it would make such a nice column for The 
Chronicle/^ said the girl demurely. “ I really can’t 
promise, Fred. Tom Allen would give me ten dollars 
for it, I am sure.” 

“ If you dare ! ” cried the young man wrathfully. 

I’d never hear the end of it. And your mother 
would never let you out on the water again, you 
know that, Les,” he added threateningly. 

“ That’s so,” she admitted. “ Well, I’ll see, 
Freddy. Cheer up. If I do tell I promise to make 
you the hero of the adventure.” 

She waved her hand to him laughingly, as Roder- 
ick’s long strokes sent them skimming away over the 
darkening water. When they were beyond earshot, 
she turned to her rescuer. 

It’s all right to joke about it now,” she said, her 
tone tremulous, “ but it was beginning to be any- 
thing but a joke. I — I do believe — Why, I just 
know that you saved my life, Roderick McRae. And 
there is one person I am going to tell, I don’t care 
who objects, and that’s my father. And you’ll hear 
from him ; for he thinks, the poor mistaken man, that 
his little Leslie is the whole thing ! ” 

And even though Roderick protested vigorously, 
he could not help feeling that it would be a great 
stroke of good fortune to have Algonquin’s richest 
and most powerful man feel he was in his debt. 


CHAPTER V 


FOLLOWING THE GLEAM 

W HEN the Inverness bumped against the 
wharf at Algonquin, the strange girl, 
standing with her bag in her hand, 
waiting to step ashore, was surprised to see the late 
enemy of the boat drive down upon the dock. She 
was still more surprised to see that his face was 
beaming with good nature, as he hailed the captain. 
But then, she did not, as yet, know Lawyer Edward 
Brians. 

“ Hech, Jamie, lad !” he shouted. “Hoot! Awa 
wi ye, mon ! Are ye no gaun tae get the fowk ashore 
the nicht ? ” 

And then there was a long outpouring of strange 
indistinguishable sounds, which caused the Ancient 
Mariner to stop smoking and expectorate into Lake 
Algonquin with a disgusted “ Huh 1 ” For Lawyer 
Ed’s Gaelic, though fluent, was a thing to make High- 
land ears shudder. 

At the first appearance of the buggy, the captain 
had turned away in haughty silence, and went on 
with his task of seeing that his passengers were safely 
landed, without so much as a glance at his talkative 
friend. 


90 


FOLLOWING THE GLEAM 91 


But his frigid reception seemed only to tickle Law- 
yer Ed’s sense of amusement. He leaned back in 
his seat, shut up his eyes, and laughed loudly. 
“ Well, for downright pigheadedness and idiotic per- 
tinacity, commend me to a Scotchman every time,” 
he cried delightedly. 

He threw the lines over the dashboard, and sprang 
out of the buggy, straight, alert and vigorous. 

“ It’s no use, your trying that air of dignity on 
me, Jimmie McTavish ! ” he cried, striding over the 
gang-plank. ‘‘ You nearly made me lose a train and 
a client into the bargain. And if I had lost him, 
that bit of business of yours wouldn’t have been 
worth a puff of smoke, my braw John Hielanman ! ” 
He slapped the captain on the back, and a peculiar 
change came over the latter’s face. There was no 
man in Algonquin who could remain angry at Lawyer 
Ed and be hammered by him on the back. He was 
voted the most exasperating person in the world, by 
people of all ages, and many a time an indignant in- 
dividual would announce publicly that dire vengeance 
was about to be launched upon his wicked head. But 
when all Algonquin waited for the blow to fall, pres- 
ently Lawyer Ed and the injured party would appear 
in the most jovial companionship, and once more his 
execution was postponed. It was as usual this time, 
the captain’s wrath broke, shattered by that friendly 
blow upon the back. He still kept up a show of taci- 
turnity, by a grumbling monologue concerning the 
undignified procedure of Irishmen in general, but the 


92 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


Irishman laughed so loud that Captain Jimmie was 
deceived into thinking he had said something very 
witty indeed, and laughed too, in spite of himself. 

I’m hunting a young lady,” cried Lawyer Ed ; 
“ the new teacher. Miss Armstrong hailed me in 
passing and said I was to drive her up.” 

Oh, yes, Mr. Brians,” cried Alfred Wilbur, bus- 
tling up, “ she’s over there. I was going to show her 
the way up myself. It’s too bad to trouble you, 
when you’re so busy.” 

Lawyer Ed eyed him sternly. 

‘‘ What ! Do you think I’d allow you, in all your 
magnificence, to burst upon the vision of an innocent 
young girl, first go off, and have her fall in love with 
you, and get her heart broken? Not much, young 
man! We’ll bring you on the stage gradually. A 
few ugly old married men like Jimmie here, or a 
withered old bachelor like myself, will do as prelimi- 
naries, and in about six months or so, — ah, well, well, 
— How do you do, my dear young lady? I’m chair- 
man of the school board and I just drove down to 
tell you that you are very welcome to Algonquin.” 

He had pushed Afternoon Tea Willie quite out of 
sight and followed the captain to where the new 
teacher stood alone. He took her hand and shook 
it vigorously, his kind blue eyes beaming a welcome. 

“ I’m sure we are glad you’ve come ! ” he declared 
again, still more heartily, for he saw the homesick- 
ness in the big eyes. “ You’ll be as happy here as 
a bob-o-link in a field of clover. I needn’t ask you 


FOLLOWING THE GLEAM 93 

if Captain McXavish took good care of you on the 
way up. He couldn’t help it, with that Hieland 
heart of his, eh, Jimmie, lad? Whenever we want to 
make a good impression upon a stranger. Miss Mur- 
ray, we always see that he comes to Algonquin by 
boat, for by the time the InverTiess carries him for an 
afternoon, he’s so prejudiced in our favour, he never 
gets over it. Eh, my braw John Hielanman? ” 

He slapped the captain on the back again, and his 
forgiveness was complete. 

Now, Miss Murray, I shall show you up to your 
new home. Give me your bag. Never mind, Alfred 
Tennyson. You trot round there and tell young 
Peter to see about that trunk. I’ll send a wagon for 
it. Good-bye, Jimmie. I’ll see you at the meeting 
to-morrow night.” 

He helped Helen into his buggy and tucked the 
lap-rug around her, while Mr. Alfred Wilbur held 
his horse’s head, though Lawyer Ed’s horse, every- 
one knew, would stand for a week untethered. He 
jumped in and started oif with a dash that nearly 
precipitated poor Afternoon Tea Willie into the lake, 
and away they rattled up the street to the utter dis- 
comfiture of the yellow dog and the yellow-and-white 
dog that were fighting in the middle of Main Street. 

It was just the waiting time before the six-o’-clock 
bells and whistles would break forth into a joyful 
clamour and send every one out on the street ; so the 
place was very quiet. The pretty streets rose up 
from the lake, all cool and shady under their green 


94 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


canopy. It was like a little town dropped down into 
the woods, and in spite of her homesickness and the 
quiet loneliness of it all, the new-comer felt a sensa- 
tion of pleasure. 

Lawyer Ed gave her no chance to be lonely. He 
chatted away cheerfully, pointing out this and that 
place of interest. As they turned off Main Street up 
a wide avenue of swaying elms, he touched his horse 
into greater speed, and leaning far over to one 
side, called her attention to something across the 
street. 

“ Look there, now ! ” he cried impressively. 
“ Isn’t that a fine building? Just take a good look 
at this. Miss Murray. I don’t think that in all Al- 
gonquin there is a place like it.” 

“ I — ^I don’t think I saw,” said Helen, looking 
about her puzzled, for they had passed nothing but a 
row of very modest homes. She looked at him en- 
quiringly, to find him leaning back, his eyes shut, and 
shaking with laughter. 

“ Never mind. Don’t hurt your eyes, child. 
There’s nothing there. But we’ve just passed my 
office, on the opposite side, and I saw from the corner 
of my eye about a half-dozen people waiting for me, 
all in a bad humour. It’s just as well that I 
shouldn’t get a better view of them. Tut, tut, don’t 
apologise. I don’t want to hurry back. Patience 
is a virtue every man should practise, and I believe 
in giving my clients a whack at it whenever I can. 
There’s the Manse. I’ve heard Dr. Leslie speak of 


FOLLOWING THE GLEAM 95 


your father. We knew him by report if not per- 
sonally. You’ll find Doctor Leslie a fine pastor. 
He’ll make you feel at home.” 

He glanced back towards his office and laughed 
again. ‘‘ I’m trying to — well not exactly retire — 
but to ease off a bit on my business. And I’m going 
to have a partner, the son of an old friend. Why, 
he came part of the way on the boat with you.” 

“ Oh, yes, the young man who took the terrible 
leap,” she said. She did not want to confess she had 
met him before. 

That’s nothing for Rod ! ” laughed Lawyer Ed. 
“ He’d jump twice that distance. Ah, he’s a great 
lad, is Roderick. He’s going to make another such 
man as his father, and that’s about the highest praise 
I can give him. Old Angus McRae — ^well you must 
meet him to know what he’s like. I believe I think 
more of Augus McRae — outside my own immediate 
family — than of any living person, of course always 
excepting Madame. Bless me! You haven’t met 
her yet, of course ? ” 

“Why, no, I don’t think so. Who is she.?” 

“ Madame, my dear Miss Murray, is the hand- 
somest and cleverest and most delightful young lady 
in all Canada or the United States. And she’s your 
Principal, so you may think yourself fortunate. 
You two girls will have a grand time together.” 

Helen felt not a little relieved. A Principal who 
was a girl of about her own age, and who was evi- 
dently possessed of so many charms, would surely 


96 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


not be a formidable person to face on the dread to- 
morrow. 

They had been steadily climbing the hills, under 
great low-branched maples and elms, and past 
scented gardens. And now they pulled up in front 
of a big square brick house set primly in a square 
lawn. 

“ Now, here’s your boarding-house, my dear,” said 
her guide, springing down and helping her to alight. 
“ This is Grandma Armstrong’s place. Remember 
that she’s grandmother to nearly all Algonquin, and 
don’t laugh at her peculiarities when there’s any one 
round. You’ll have to when you’re alone, just as a 
safety-valve. You’ll like the daughters. The elder 
one is a bit stiff, but they’re fine ladies.” He had 
rung the bell by this time, and now it was opened by 
a tall handsome lady, slightly over middle age. The 
Misses Armstrong, because of an old acquaintance 
with her father, had stepped aside from the strict 
rules they had hitherto followed, and had taken the 
new school teacher as a boarder. Helen had often 
heard her father speak of them and knew, the moment 
the door opened, that this was Miss Armstrong, the 
eldest, who had been a belle in her father’s day. She 
belonged so obviously to the house, that Helen had 
a complete sense of fitness at the sight of her. Like 
it she was tall, erect and fine looking, in a stately, 
stiff fashion. 

Lawyer Ed presented his charge in his most af- 
fable manner, and Miss Armstrong smiled upon him 


FOLLOWING THE GLEAM 97 


graciously and upon her with some reserve. A 
boarder, after all, had to be kept at a distance, even 
though she were the daughter of an old friend. 

And how is Grandma, toi-day ? ” enquired Law- 
yer Ed. “And Annabel.?^ Isn’t she home.?^” 

“ Mother has gone to bed this afternoon, Edward, 
but she is very well, I thank you. She will be disap- 
pointed when she hears you were here. Annabel has 
gone to the meeting of the Club. She will be back 
presently. I remained at home to welcome Miss 
Murray.” 

“ Good-bye just now, then, my child,” he said 
paternally, taking Helen’s hand. He saw the home- 
sick anguish returning to her big eyes, and he 
squeezed the hand until it hurt. “ You’ll have a 
great time in Algonquin, never fear. The air here 
will bring the roses back to your cheeks. Won’t it, 
Elinor.? ” 

Miss Armstrong agreed and bade him a gracious 
good-afternoon, moving out on the steps to see him 
to the gate. She then led the way up the long steep 
stair. The ceilings of Rosemount were very high, 
and every step echoed weirdly. They went along 
another hall upstairs flanked by two terrible pic- 
tures, one a scene of carnage on land^ — ^Wellington 
meeting Bliicher on the field of Waterloo, the other 
an equally dreadful scene on water — Nelson’s death 
on the Victory, Her bedroom was a big airy place, 
stiflp and formal and in perfect order. The ceiling 
again impressed her with its vast distance from the 


98 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


floor. In the centre of this one, like the others, was a 
circular ornamental device of plaster; flowers and 
fruit and birds, and great bunches of hard white 
grapes that looked ready to fall heavily upon one’s 
head. One end of the room was almost filled with 
a black marble mantel and over it hung a picture of 
Queen Victoria with her family, in the early days of 
her married life. There was a big low bed of heavy 
walnut, four high windows with stiff lace curtains, a 
circular marble-topped table and a tiny writing desk. 
Miss Armstrong assisted her to remove her hat, ex- 
pressing the hope that she had had a pleasant trip 
from Barbay. Helen did not say that her heart had 
been aching all the way. She merely assured her 
that the trip had been very comfortable indeed, and 
that Captain McTavish had done everything to make 
it enjoyable. 

“ Jimmie McTavish is a kind creature,” said Miss 
Armstrong. ‘‘ Very ignorant, and too familiar en- 
tirely ; but he is well-meaning, for all that. Now, I 
hope you will feel perfectly at home with us here. 
Miss Murray. Your father’s daughter could not but 
be welcome at Rosemount. Indeed, I am afraid, had 
you not been a clergyman’s daughter, I should never 
have consented to taking you. Having any one to 
board was so foreign to our minds. But Mr. Brians 
begged us to take you. You see he is chairman of 
the school board, and always sees to it that the young 
persons who teach have suitable homes.” 

‘‘ I am so sorry if my coming has inconvenienced 


FOLLOWING THE GLEAM 99 


you,” stammered Helen, for Miss Armstrong’s man- 
ner was very impressive. 

“ Oh, not at all, I assure you. When we heard 
who you were, we consented with pleasure. We have 
so much more room in this big house than we need. 
There is a very large family of us. Miss Murray, as 
you will discover, but now there are only my mother 
and my sister and I left at Rosemount.” Her face 
grew sad. But indeed I sometimes have thought 
recently,” she added, growing stately again, that 
my dear father would turn in his grave if he knew 
we were filling Rosemount with boarders.” 

She paused a moment, and the strange girl was 
wondering miserably if she should take her bag and 
move out to some other place, rather than risk dis- 
turbing her father’s old friend in his last long sleep, 
when Miss Armstrong went on. “ I hope you won’t 
mind. Miss Murray, you are to be as one of the 
family, you know, and if you would be so good — ” 
she hesitated and a slight flush rose in her face. 

“ Yes.^^ ” asked Helen wonderingly. 

“ If you would be so good as to not use the word 
hoard, I don’t know why it should be so offensive 
to me,” she added with a little laugh. ‘‘ My ears are 
very sensitive, I suppose. But if you wouldn’t mind 
saying, in the course of your conversation, that you 
are staying with the Rosemount Armstrongs, it would 
please me so much.” 

“ Certainly, I shall remember,” said Helen, much 
relieved. 


100 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


“ Thank you so much. And now if you would like 
to rest for a little after your journey you may. 
Supper will be served in the course of half-an-hour.” 

Helen felt a lump growing in her throat that made 
the thought of food choke her. But she dared not 
refuse. To remain alone in that big echoing room, 
was only to invite thoughts of home and other far 
off and lost joys. 

When Miss Armstrong had left her, and her trunk 
had come bumping up the back stairs and been de- 
posited in the vast closet, she sat down on the black 
haircloth chair and looked hopelessly around the big 
dreary room. There rose before her a vision of her 
own room at the old home, the room that she and her 
sister Betty had shared. It had rose-bordered cur- 
tains and rose-festooned wall-paper and pink and 
white cushions. And it had a dear mother-face peep- 
ing in at the door to chide her gently if she sat too 
late writing those long letters to Dick. 

The memory of it all came over her with such a 
rush that she felt she must throw herself upon that 
broad white bed and sob herself sick. But she sat 
still, holding her hands tightly clenched, and choking 
back the tears. She had work to do and she must 
be ready for that work. To give way in private 
meant inefficiency in public to-morrow. School- 
teaching was a new, untried field of labour for her, and 
if she went to bed and cried herself to sleep, as she 
wanted to do, she would have a headache for to- 
morrow and she would fail. And she must not fail, 


FOLLOWING THE GLEAM 101 


she told herself desperately; she dared not fail, for 
Mother was depending upon her success. And yet 
she had no idea how that success was to he gained. 
She knew only too well that she was not fitted for 
her task. She had never wanted to teach school, and 
had never dreamed she would need to. Her place 
had always been at home, and a big place she had 
filled as Mother’s help and the minister’s right hand. 
But her father had insisted upon her taking her 
teacher’s certificate. “ It’s easy to carry about, 
Nellie,” he was wont to say, “ and may come useful 
some day.” 

So Helen had gone, with good-natured indulgence 
of Father’s whim, and studied at a training school, 
with one eye on her books and the other watching 
for Dick to come up the street. And when she 
brought home her despised diploma, there was a dia- 
mond ring on the hand that placed it on her father’s 
desk. That had been a year ago. And almost im- 
mediately after, her father had been taken from them. 
The old home went next. The boys and girls scat- 
tered to earn their own living. Mother had gone 
with Betty, who had married, and who lived away in 
the West. And then the last and best treasure had 
been taken, the diamond with its marvellous lights and 
colours, and with it had gone out all the light and 
colour of life. 

She was just twenty-three, and she had been given 
the task of working out a new strange life unaided, 
with nothing ahead of her but work and loneliness. 


102 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


At first she had given way to a numb despair, then 
necessity and the needs of the family aroused her. 
There was something for her to do, something that 
had to be done, and back of all the wreck of her life, 
dimmed by clouds of sorrow, there stood her father’s 
God. In spite of all the despair and dismay she felt 
instinctively He must be somewhere, behind it all. 
She did not know as yet, that that assurance spelled 
hope. But she knew that there was work for her and 
there was Mother waiting until she should make her 
a home. 

She sprang up, as her misery threatened to over- 
whelm her again, and began swiftly to change her 
dress and arrange her hair. She pulled back the 
stiff curtains* of one of the tall windows and leaned 
out. A soft blue haze, the first glimpse of Septem- 
ber’s tender eyes, was settling on the distant hills. 
The sun was setting, and away up the street towards 
the west flamed a gold and crimson sky, and away 
down in the east flamed its gold and crimson reflec- 
tion on the mirror of Lake Algonquin. From the 
garden below, the scent of the opening nicotine blos- 
soms came up to her. 

She was sitting there, trying to admire the beauty 
of it all, but her heart protesting against the feeling 
of utter loneliness it bred, when there came a sharp 
tap on the door. It opened the next moment and a 
young lady tripped in. 

“ Good evening. Miss Murray. I just bounced in 
to say welcome to Rosemount. I’m so glad you’ve 


FOLLOWING THE GLEAM 103 


come. I’ve just been dying to have a girl in the 
house of my own age.” 

She caught Helen’s two hands in hers with genuine 
kindliness. 

She was a plump fair lady with fluffy yellow hair 
and big blue eyes. She was dressed in a pink flow- 
ered muslin trimmed with girlish frills and wore a 
big hat wreathed with nodding roses. Helen was 
puzzled. This wasn’t Miss Annabel, then; for her 
mother had said the Misses Armstrong were both 
over forty. 

‘‘ I’m Annabel Armstrong,” she said, settling the 
question. Helen gave her a second look and saw that 
Miss Annabel carried signs of maturity in her face 
and form, albeit she carried them very blithely in- 
deed. “ And I can’t tell you how glad I am you’ve 
come. You’ll just adore Algonquin. It’s the gay- 
est place on earth, a dance or a tea or a bridge or 
some sort of kettle-drum every day. What a love of 
a dress ! It’s the very colour of your eyes, my dear. 
Come away now; you must meet Mother. She al- 
ways takes supper in her own room now, and I 
must carry it to her. Our little maid is about as 
much use as a pussy-cat and if I’m not in the kitchen 
every ten minutes to tramp on her tail she’ll go to 
sleep. Come along ! ” 

She danced away down the hall, Helen following 
her, feeling extremely old and prim. Grandma Arm- 
strong’s bedroom was at the back of the house over- 
looking the orchard and kitchen-garden. She was 


104 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


sitting up in bed, a very handsome little old lady in 
cap and ribbons. She gave the strange girl’s hand 
a gentle pressure. 

“ Here she is, Muzzy,” cried Miss Annabel in an 
apologetic tone. “ It’s too bad you didn’t see her 
sooner, but she was so busy.” 

“ Indeed I generally notice that I am left to the 
last, when any new person comes to the house,” said 
Grandma Armstrong in a grieved tone. “ Well, my 
dear, I am pleased to see the Rev. Walter Murray’s 
son in my house. You look like him — yes, very much, 
just the image of him in fact, only of course he was 
a man and wore a portmanteau when I knew him.” 

Grandma Armstrong’s separate faculties were all 
alert and as keen as they had ever been in youth. 
But some strange lack of connection between her 
tongue and her memory, seemed to have befallen the 
old lady, so that they did not always agree, and she 
was wont to intersperse her otherwise quite intelli- 
gent conversation with words having no remotest con- 
nection with the context. 

‘‘A moustache, you mean. Muzzy dear,” said her 
daughter. “ Mother forgets you know,” she added, 
in a hasty, low apology to Helen. 

“Why do you interrupt me, Annabel.? I said a 
moustache. I hope you sleep well here, my dear. I 
had that room of yours for some time, but I had to 
move back here, I could never get to sleep after they 
put up the Israelite at the corner. It shone right 
over my bed. Let me see now. You are the second 


FOLLOWING THE GLEAM 105 


daughter, are you not? Your father was a fine man, 
my dear. Yes, indeed. We knew him well as a stu^ 
dent. He preached one summer in — where was that, 
Annabel? Alaska?” 

‘‘ Muskoka, Mother.” 

“ Oh, yes, Muskoka, and the Rev. Walter Hislop, 
your father, was there as a student.” 

“ Murray, you mean. Mother.” 

“ Don’t interrupt me, Annabel. Your uncie 
preached there two summers, my dear, and I thought 
my daughter Annabel and he — ” 

It was Elizabeth, Mother, not me ! Good gra- 
cious, how old do you think I am? ” demanded Miss 
Annabel, quite alarmed. 

“ Oh, Elizabeth, of course. I really thought she 
and your brother, the Rev. Mr. McIntosh, should 
have become engaged before the summer was over. 
But we had other plans for our daughter, and we 
thought it wiser for her to go to the sea-shore the 
next summer.” 

Now, Mother,” said Miss Annabel tactfully. 
‘‘ Miss Murray doesn’t want to hear all that ancient 
history. She has to get her supper. She’s tired 
and hungry.” 

Helen slept soundly that night. Two big windows 
of hei room looked out to the west where, beyond the 
town, ran a high wooded ridge, and the low organ 
tones of the evening wind singing through the trees 
made her forget her grief and lulled her to sleep. 

She set off to her work early in the morning, nerv- 


106 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


ous and apprehensive. Her hostesses all wished her 
well. Miss Armstrong, in her quiet stately fashion 
hoped she would find her employment congenial, and 
Grandma expressed the desire that Miss Carstairs 
would enjoy her work at the cemetery, a remark 
which the worried young teacher felt was more ap- 
propriate than the kindly old lady guessed. Miss 
Annabel followed her to the gate, with instructions 
regarding the road to school. She plucked a big 
crimson dahlia from its bed and stuck it in the belt 
of Helen’s blue dress. 

Good luck, dearie, and cheer up ! ” she cried, 
seeing the look in the sad blue eyes. ‘‘ School teach- 
ing’s heaps of fun, I feel sure. Don’t worry about 
it. We’re going to have great times in the evenings. 
There’s always something on. Bye bye, and good 
luck,” and she tripped up the garden path waving 
her hand gaily. 

Helen had scarcely gone half a block under the 
elm boughs, when she heard her name called out in a 
musical roar from far up the street behind her. She 
had not been in Algonquin twenty-four hours, but 
she knew that voice. She was just a bit scandalised 
as she turned to see a man waving his cane, as he 
hurried to overtake her. But she had not yet 
learned that no one minded being hailed half-a-mile 
away by Lawyer Ed. 

He was accompanied by a lady, a tall woman of 
such ample proportions, that she had some ado to 
keep up with Lawyer Ed’s brisk step. She wore a 


FOLLOWING THE GLEAM 107 


broad old-fashioned hat tied under her round chin, 
and a gay flowered muslin dress that floated about 
her with an easy swaying motion. She wore, too, a 
pair of soft low-heeled slippers, that gave forth a 
soothing accompaniment to the rhythm of her move- 
ments. She was surrounded by a perfect body- 
guard of children. They danced behind her and 
ahead of her, they clung to her hands and peeped 
from the flowing muslin draperies, while she moved 
among them, serene and smiling hke a great flower 
surrounded by a cloud of buzzing little bees. 

“ Good morning, good morning ! ” shouted the 
chairman of the school board. ‘‘ Abroad bright and 
early and ready for work! Well, well, well,” he 
added admiringly, as he shook her hands violently, 
“ if the Algonquin air hasn’t commenced to do its 
work already! Now, my dear, brace up and don’t 
be frightened. It is my duty as chairman of the 
school board to introduce you to your stern prin- 
cipal. Miss Murray, I have the honour of present- 
ing you to Mrs. Doasyouwouldbedoneby, known in 
private life as Mrs. Adam ; but if you are as nice as 
you look, you may one day be admitted to the inner 
circle of her friends, and then you wiU be allowed to 
call her Madame.” 

As the lady took her hand and turned upon her a 
smile in proportion to her size, Helen suddenly real- 
ised why she had seemed so familiar even at the first 
glance. She was exactly like the wonderful fairy 
who cared for the water-babies at the bottom of the 


108 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


sea. And the resemblance was further heightened 
by the presence of the babies themselves who came 
swarming about to settle all over her, and when 
shoved out of the way, only came swarming back. 

‘‘ Bless me, what a mistake ! ” she cried. It’s 
you that’s the Principal and I’m the assistant. I’m 
so thankful you’re young, my dear. I can’t stand 
old folks, and middle-aged people are my abhorrence. 
I told Edward Brians that if he put me down there 
all alone with a middle-aged woman, — a young gay 
thing like me , — 1 just wouldn’t stand it.” 

I don’t think there are any old people in Algon- 
quin, are there ” asked Helen. 

They were moving on down the street now, and 
their going was something of a triumphal procession. 
At every turn some one joined them, — young or old, 
and from every side greetings were called after them, 
until the bewildered stranger felt as if she had be- 
come part of a circus parade. She was feeling al- 
most light-hearted as the gay throng moved forward, 
when they passed their escort’s office, and in the 
doorway stood the young Mr. McRae who reminded 
her so sadly of the past. 

“ Hooray, Rod,” roared his chief. A graun be- 
ginnin’, ma braw John Hielanman! Come down 
here off that perch and do your respects to the 
March of Education ! ” 

Roderick obeyed very willingly. He had been a 
pupil of Madame’s in his primary days, notwith- 
standing her extreme youth, and she welcomed him 


FOLLOWING THE GLEAM 109 


home and hoped he would be as good a boy as he had 
been when she had him. Then Lawyer Ed intro- 
duced him to the new teacher. . She shook hands, but 
she did not say they had met before, and Roderick 
tactfully ignored the fact also, for which he fancied 
she gave him a glance of gratitude. They moved on 
but soon the March of Education was again inter- 
rupted. Across the street. Doctor Archie Blair, with 
his black satchel in his hand and a volume of Burns be- 
neath his arm, was preparing to climb into his buggy 
for a drive into the country. He stepped aside for a 
moment and crossed the street to tell Madame how 
glad he was to see her back from her holidays, for 
the town had been a howling wilderness without her. 

‘‘ This is Miss Murray, the new teacher, I know,” 
he added before Lawyer Ed could introduce him. 
“ You will learn soon. Miss Murray, that if you want 
to find a stranger in Algonquin, especially a strange 
young lady, you have just to hunt up Lawyer Brians 
and there she is.” 

“ And a very good place to be, Archie Blair,” said 
Madame. “ If every one looked after strangers as 
well as he does there wouldn’t be many lonely peo- 
ple.” 

“ Hear, hear, Madame,” roared Lawyer Ed. “ No 
one knows my virtues as you do. Did ye hear yon, 
Aerchie mon ? ” 

“ The trouble is, Miss Murray,” said the doctor, 
without paying the slightest attention to the other 
two, the trouble is that this gentleman doesn’t give 


110 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


any one else a chance to do a good deed. He does 
everything himself. No one in Algonquin minds 
neglecting his duty, for he knows that Mr. Brians 
would be there ahead of him and get it done any- 
way, so where’s the use of bothering I’m a member 
of the school board, and I might be betraying my 
trust if I encouraged you to neglect your work, but 
I feel I ought to tell you that if any day you would 
like to take a few hours off, why, do so, Mr. Brians 
will teach for you.” 

There was a great deal more banter and fun, and 
the March of Education was resumed with small re- 
cruits in clean pinafores darting out of homes here 
and there to join it. It ended at last at the battered 
gate of the little schoolhouse. The East Ward was 
a small part of the town, consisting mostly of lake, 
so the population was not very large. There were 
but two grades, of which Mrs. Adam taught the 
younger. 

The children scampered over the yard, and 
swarmed into the building. Lawyer Ed ran about, 
scattering pink “ bull’s-eyes ” all over the floor and 
yard, calling, “ Chukie, Chukie 1 ” with the whole 
school at his heels like a flock of noisy chickens. 
And when he had the place in an uproar, he shouted 
good-bye and rushed away in a fit of laughter. 

Mrs. Doasyouwouldbedoneby sank heavily into a 
chair, with a relieved smile, and said, as Helen hung 
up her hat, and looked about apprehensively, “ Now, 
my dear child, I remember my first day at school- 


FOLLOWING THE GLEAM 111 


teaching distinctly, and if yours is anything the same, 
you are scared to death. So if you want to know 
anything or need any help, you just come right 
along into my room, and we’ll fix it up. And what- 
ever you do, don’t worry. We’re going to have just 
a glorious time together, you and I.” 

And the new teacher went to her first day’s work 
with a heart far less heavy than she would have be- 
lieved possible. Far ahead had begun to show the 
first faint glimmer of the light that was leading her 
through sorrow and pain to a higher and better life. 
And all unconsciously she had begun to follow its 
gleam. 


CHAPTER VI 


LAUNCHING HIS VESSEH 

R oderick had been but two days in the 
office of Edward Brians, barrister, and al- 
ready be had learned a great deal. Two 
important facts, not directly connected with the legal 
profession, had been impressing themselves upon him. 
The first was that if he were going to reach the goal 
of success that shone so alluringly ahead of him, he 
must give every effort and every minute of time to 
his work; and the second was that he was going to 
have a hard time concentrating upon it in the various 
interests of the little town that seemed to demand 
his attention. 

And there was his chief setting him a bad example. 
The young man had spent part of his first morning 
wandering through the mass of documents and scraps 
of paper which Lawyer Ed called his book-keeping. 
Between items of a professional nature were memo- 
randa or reports of session meetings. Highland Club 
meetings, political meetings, country tea-meetings, 
everything and anything except law. What there 
was of the latter was connected only with such clients 
as were of ample means. All the poor folk for miles 
around came to Lawyer Ed with their troubles and 
112 


LAUNCHING HIS VESSEL 113 


were advised, scolded, pulled or paid out of them, and 
never so much as a stroke of a pen to record the good 
deed. If they paid him, well and good ; if they did 
not, so much the better. And the price of a ticket 
to the Holy Land and back — that trip which had not 
yet materialised — ^might have been many times writ- 
ten down, had Lawyer Ed known anything about 
book-keeping. But Lawyer Ed’s policy in all his 
career, had been something the same as that of his 
friend Doctor Blair across the way — to keep his 
people of his practice well, rather than to cure them 
when they were ill. So if he could manage it none 
of his clients ever went into a law-court. It was good 
for the clients, but bad for such things as trips 
abroad. Koderick did not see that side of his chief’s 
book-keeping. He did not know that the man could 
put through more work in an hour than most men 
could in a day, and saw only the meetings recorded 
which took so much of his time. And he said to him- 
self that that was not the way to become great. 
Some day he intended to be one of the leading ad- 
vocates of Canada. He was not conceited. His was 
only the boundless hopefulness of youth coupled with 
the assurance which experience had already given 
him, that whenever he set his mind to anything, he 
accomplished it, no matter how many difficulties stood 
in the way. So he was determined to concentrate all 
his efforts on his work, and as for serving humanity, 
he could do it best, he assured himself, by being a 
success in his profession. 


lU THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


He was just entering upon his second day when his 
advice was sought from an unexpected source and in 
connection with an entirely new subject. Lawyer 
Ed had gone out and Roderick was seated at his 
desk when some one entered the hall and tapped 
hesitatingly on the inner door. Roderick called an 
invitation to come in, and Mr. Alfred Wilbur, in 
perfect white ducks and white canvas shoes, stepped 
inside. 

“ So you’ve come to be Mr. Brians’ partner, 
haven’t you, Mr. McRae?” he enquired. Mr. Wil- 
bur was a well-mannered young man and had never 
adopted the easy familiar way of naming people 
which was current in the town. 

“ Say rather his office-boy, for a while,” said Rod- 
erick. 

Mr. Wilbur protested. “ Oh, now, Mr. McRae, 
you’re just quite too modest. Every one’s saying 
how well you did at college and school; and that 
you’re going to make your mark — you know you 
are.” 

Roderick wondered why the young man should take 
such pains to be polite to him. 

“ Did you want to see Lawyer Ed? ” he asked. 

“ No, no, thank you,” he cried in alarm. “ He’s 
not in, is he? No, I just wanted to see you, Mr. 
McRae — not professionally you understand but — 
that is — ^personally, — on a very sacred matter.” 

His voice dropped to a whisper, he crossed his feet 
in front of him, then drew them under his chair, 


LAUNCHING HIS VESSEL 115 


twirled his hat, smoothed down the back of his head 
vigorously, and looked in dismay at the floor. 

“ I hope I can do something for you,” said Rod 
encouragingly, feeling sorry for his evident distress. 

“ Thank you so much ! ” cried the young man 
gratefully. “ It’s about — that is — I think, an old 
acquaintance of yours — Miss Murray, the new 
teacher in the East Ward. She is an old acquaint- 
ance, isn’t she ? ” 

It was Roderick’s turn to feel hot and look em- 
barrassed. He answered his first client very shortly. 

“ No, she isn’t.” 

“ Oh ! I thought — ^you went and spoke to her on 
the boat ! ” 

« So I did.” 

‘‘But you met her before surely?” asked the 
young man, aghast at the notion of Roderick’s bold- 
ness. 

“ Yes.” 

“ In Toronto? 

“ Yes.” 

“ Long ago ? ” 

“ Last autumn.” 

“ Is her home there? ” 

“ I believe so. It was then.” 

“ Oh, you don’t know her very well then ? ” 

“No, I don’t. And I don’t know w^hy on earth 
I’ve got to be put through a catechism about it.” 

“ Oh, say ! You really must think I’m awful ! ” 
cried the poor young man contritely. “ I do beg 


116 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


your pardon, Mr. McRae. It really must have 
sounded shocking to you. But, well — ^I — did you 
ever meet a young — any one whom you knew — at first 
sight — ^was the one person in all the world for you? ” 
His voice sank. The day was cool and breezy, but 
poor Afternoon Tea Willie’s face was damp and hot 
and he wiped it carefully with his fine hem-stitched 
handkerchief, murmuring apologies. 

“No, I never did,” said Roderick quite violently,, 
for no reason at all. 

“ I beg your pardon, I’m sure,” murmured his 
visitor, vaguely alarmed. “ You can’t understand 
my feelings then. But that’s really what I felt when 
I saw her. It was a revelation, one of those swift 
certain intuitions of the soul, and I — ^you don’t mind 
my telling you this, do you, Mr. McRae? ” 

“ Oh, no, not if you don’t mind,” said Roderick. 

“ It’s so good of you,” said poor Afternoon Tea 
Willie. “ You were the only one I could come to, the 
only one who seemed to know her. She boards at 
Miss Armstrong’s, but Miss Annabel — ^you know 
Miss Annabel? No? Well, I wouldn’t for worlds 
say anything against a lady, but Miss Annabel 
doesn’t seem to like me. I don’t blame her, you 
know, but I don’t like to go there. It — ^I seem to 
bother her dreadfully, so I thought — ^I knew you 
wouldn’t mind introducing me some time, would 
you ? ” 

“ I really don’t know Miss Murray well enough to 
do that,” said Roderick decidedly. “ And I wish 


LAUNCHING HIS VESSEL 117 


you wouldn’t say anything about our having met be- 
fore. I don’t think she remembers me very well. 
Ask Mr. Brians to introduce you.” 

I did, but he refused.” 

“ Perhaps he was only in fun, try him again — or 
Mrs. Adam. She teaches with her.” 

“Oh my! the very person.” Mr. Wilbur sprang 
up. “ Oh, I can’t think why I never thought of her 
before. I’ll call on Madame this afternoon. I can’t 
thank you enough, Mr. McRae, for the kind sugges- 
tion.” The young man hurried out, profusely ex- 
pressing his gratitude. Afternoon Tea Willie had 
absolutely nothing in the world to do, but he was 
always in a hurry. Perhaps the reason was that the 
ladies of the town ordered him about so. He was 
the most obliging young man, and being always avail- 
able, he was used to the utmost, and was driven like 
a galley slave from dawn to dark. As he went down 
the steps he turned back and looked up at Roderick 
rapturously. 

“ Say ! ” he whispered. “ Did you ever see such 
eyes.^ Don’t they make you feel just as if you were 
going down in an elevator? ” 

But Roderick turned quickly away, with an un- 
reasonable and very unbusinesslike desire to kick his 
first client down the steps. He had almost closed 
the door behind him when a loud clear voice from 
the street called his name. It was just four o’clock, 
the hour when all the young ladies of Algonquin, 
dressed in their best, walked down to the post-office 


118 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 

for the afternoon mail which came in a half-hour 
earlier. This afternoon post-office parade was a 
social function, for only people of leisure and dis- 
tinction were at liberty at that hour. The young 
gentlemen from the bank generally emerged about 
that time too, and came striding down to the post- 
office looking worried and flurried as became gentle- 
men with the finances of the whole town and half the 
country weighing them down. After they had all 
met at the post-office, they went up to the ice-cream 
and candy palace on Main Street, or out on the lake, 
or strolled off into the park. 

It was a member of the post-office parade who was 
hailing Roderick so gaily. A pretty group was 
rustling past the office, all muslin frills and silk 
sashes and flowers of every colour, and the prettiest 
and best dressed of them all came running up the 
steps to his side, with a swish of silken skirts and a 
whiff of violet perfume. 

It was Miss Leslie Graham, the girl he had helped 
out of the lake, not forlorn and bedraggled now, but 
immaculate and dainty, from the rose wreath on her 
big hat to the tip of her white kid shoe. 

“ Hello ! ” she cried gaily. “ I thought you’d 
surely ’phone over to see whether I needed to make 
my will or not. You’re not much of a lawyer.” 

Roderick laughed. She was so frank and boyish 
that she put him quite at his ease. 

“ Well, — ^not knowing I was the family advocate, 
I didn’t like to,” he said slyly. 


LAUNCHING HIS VESSEL 119 


She laughed delightedly. ‘‘ You’re going to be 
after this, I can tell you. Daddy’s out of town and 
he doesn’t know yet ! ” 

“ There’s no need to worry him by telling.” 

“ Oh, but there just is. I haven’t told a soul yet, 
and I nearly had to commit murder to keep it from 
Mother. Fred’s in a pink fit every minute for fear 
I’ll let it out. I’ve got heaps of fun holding it over 
his head. It makes him good and obedient. Is Law- 
yer Ed in .? ” 

“ No. Do you wish to see him? ” 

No, of course not. I just wondered if he 
wouldn’t keep house, though, for a few minutes, while 
you came along and joined the bunch. We’re all 
going to make Alf take us for ice-cream. We spied 
him leaving here. Can’t you come ? ” 

“ Thank you, but I’m afraid I couldn’t leave,” said 
Roderick, rather taken aback by her frankness. 
That ideal womali, who sat dimly enthroned in the 
recesses of his heart, never offered her favours, they 
had to be sued for, and she was apt to sit in judgment 
on the girl who departed from her strict rule. 

Come on, Les ! ” called a voice from the linger- 
ing group she had left. Here’s Alf. He’s going 
to treat us all. Ho ! A-a-lf ! ” The young ladies of 
Algonquin, had lived in such close proximity to each 
other from childhood that a playmate could always 
be summoned even from the other end of the town by 
a clarion call, and they had never seen any reason 
for changing their convenient method when long skirts 


120 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


and piled-up hair might have been supposed to de- 
mand a less artless manner. But then every one 
shouted across blocks, and besides, every one knew 
that Afternoon Tea Willie just dearly loved to be 
yelled at. He whirled about now, waved his hat, and 
came hurrying back, with the peculiar jerky irregu- 
lar motion of his feet, that always marked his move- 
ments. 

“ Hurrah, Leslie ! ” called her companions again. 

“ Coming ! ” she cried. ‘‘ So sorry you can’t 
come,” she added, turning to Roderick, “ but we’ll 
give you another invitation.” She looked disap- 
pointed, and a little inclined to pout, but she waved 
her hand as she ran down the steps and joined the 
group of lace and flowers now fluttering down the 
side-walk towards the ice cream parlour. 

“ Leslie’s made a new conquest,” cried a tall girl 
with flashing black eyes. “ He seemed frantically 
anxious to come with you, my dear. I don’t see how 
you got rid of him.” 

“ Who is he, Les ? ” cried another. ‘‘ If it’s a new 
young man come to this girl-ridden town you simply 
have got to pass him round and introduce him.” 

“ Why, he’s Lawyer Ed’s new partner, you 
goosie,” cried a dozen voices, for it was inexcusable 
for any young lady not to know all about Lawyer 
Ed’s business. 

“ A lawyer, how perfectly lovely ! ” cried a plump 
little girl with pink cheeks and dancing eyes. “ It’s 
such a relief to see some one beside bank boys. I’m 


LAUNCHING HIS VESSEL m 


going to ask his advice about suing Afternoon Tea 
Willie for breach of promise. What’s his name, 
Leslie? ” 

“Why, his name’s Roderick McRae,” cried the 
young lady with the black eyes. “ I remember when 
he used to go to school in a grey homespun suit with 
the hay sticking aU over it. He’s the son of old 
Angus McRae who used to bring our cabbage and 
lettuce to the back door ! ” 

“ Mercy ! ” the plump little girl gave a shriek. 
“Where in the world did you pick him up, Les- 
lie? ” 

The girl whirled about and faced her companions, 
her eyes blazing, her cheeks red. “ I didn’t pick him 
up at aU ! ” she cried hotly. “ He picked me up the 
other night, out of the lake over by Breezy Point, 
where Fred Hamilton upset me out of his canoe. 
And if Roderick McRae hadn’t come along I’d have 
been drowned. So now ! ” 

It had all come out in a rush. She had fully in- 
tended to shield Fred. But she could not see her 
preserver scoffed at by those Baldwin girls. Imme- 
diately there was a chorus of enquiries and exclama- 
tions. Afternoon Tea Willie was overcome with dis- 
tress and apologised for not being there. Old Angus 
McRae’s son immediately became a hero. 

The little plump girl with the big blue eyes sighed 
enviously. “ Oh dear ! How lucky ! I think it’s a 
shame all the good things happen to you, Leslie ; and 
he’s so handsome I ” 


m THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


I’m going to ask him to join our tennis club,” 
said Leslie, looking round rather defiantly. 

Leslie Graham, by virtue of the fact that her 
mother belonged to the reigning house of Armstrong, 
and her father was the richest man in Algonquin, was 
leader of the younger social set. But Miss Anna 
Baldwin of the black eyes was her most powerful 
rival. They were constant companions and very 
dear friends, and never agreed upon anything. So 
immediately upon Miss Graham’s daring announce- 
ment that this new and very exclusive club should be 
entered by one not in their set. Miss Baldwin cried, 
‘‘ Oh, how perfectly sweet and democratic 1 Our 
milkman saved our house from burning down one 
morning last winter, don’t you remember, Lou? We 
must make Mamma ask him to her next tea ! ” 

Thereupon the group broke up into two sections, 
one loudly proclaiming its democratic principles, the 
other as vigorously upholding the necessity for draw- 
ing rigid social lines. And they all swept into the 
ice-cream palace, like a swarm of hot, angry bees, 
followed by Afternoon Tea Willie in great distress, 
apologising now to one side, now to the other. 

Another call from his work came to Roderick the 
next afternoon when he paid his first visit to Doctor 
Leslie. The old Manse did not look just as hospit- 
able as of old, there were no crowds on the veranda 
and in the orchard any more. For the foster mother 
of the congregation had left her children mourning. 


LAUNCHING HIS VESSEL 123 


and gone to continue her good work in a brighter and 
better world. 

Viney was still in the kitchen, however, doing all 
in her power to make the lonely minister comfort- 
able. She had been away from the Manse for some 
years in the interval, but was now returned with a 
half-grown daughter to help her. Viney had left 
Mrs. Leslie to marry “ Mahogany Bill,” a mulatto 
from the negro settlement out in Oro. But Bill had 
been of no account, and after his not too sadly 
mourned demise, his wife, promoted to the dignified 
title of Mammy Viney, had returned with her little 
girl to the Algonquin Manse, and there she was still. 

‘‘ And your father has you home at last, Rod- 
erick,” said the minister, rubbing his hands with 
pleasure and surveying the young man’s fine honest 
face with aff*ection. “ He has lived for this day. I 
hope you won’t get so absorbed in your practice that 
you won’t be able to run out to the farm often.” 

Aunt Kirsty will see to that,” laughed Roderick. 

The minister beamed. I’m afraid I shall get 
into her bad books then, for I am going to keep you 
here as often as possible. You are just the young 
man I want in the church, Roderick — one who will be 
a leader of the young men. Algonquin is changing,” 
he added sadly. “ Perhaps because it is growing 
rapidly. I am afraid there is a rather fast set of 
young men being developed here. It makes my heart 
ache to see fine young fellows like Fred Hamilton and 


m. THE END OF THE RAINBOW 

Walter Armstrong learning to gamble, and yet that 
is just what is happening. There’s a great work 
here for a strong young man with just your upbring- 
ing, my boy. We must save these lads from them- 
selves — ‘Who knoweth,’ ” he added with a smile, 
“ ‘ but thou hast come to the Kingdom for such an 
hour.’ ” 

There was a great deal more of the same earnest 
call to work, and Roderick went away conscious of 
a slight feeling of impatience. It was just what his 
father was always saying, but how was he to attend 
to his work, if he were to have all the responsibility 
of the young men of the town and all the people of 
Willow Lane upon him.?^ He was inclined to think 
that every man should be responsible for himself. 
He was kind-hearted and generous when the impulse 
came, but he did not want to be reminded that his 
life’s work was to be his brother’s keeper. His work 
was to be a lawyer. He did not yet realise that in 
being his brother’s keeper he would make of himself 
the best kind of lawyer. 

The next evening, when he prepared to go home. 
Lawyer Ed declared he must just take his horse and 
drive him out to the farm and have a visit with Angus 
and a drink of Aunt Kirsty’s butter-milk. So, early 
in the evening, they drove through the town down 
towards the Pine Road. Willow Lane still stood 
there. The old houses were more dilapidated than 
ever, and there were more now than there used to be. 
Doctor Blair’s horse and buggy stood before one of 


LAUNCHING HIS VESSEL 125 


them. Willow Lane was on low, swampy ground, 
and was the abode of fevers and diseases of all sorts. 

As they whirled past it. Lawyer Ed waved his 
whip towards it in disgust. “ That place is a dis- 
grace to Algonquin,” he blustered. ‘‘ We boast of 
our town being the most healthful and beautiful in 
Ontario, and it’s got the ugliest and the most unsani- 
tary spot just right there that you’d find in Canada. 
If J. P. gets to be mayor next year he’ll fix it up. 
He’s having it drained already. I hope you’ll get 
interested in municipal affairs. Rod. I tell you it’s 
great. I’m so glad I’ll have more time for town 
affairs now that you’re here. But you must get 
going there too. There’s nothing so bad for a pro- 
fessional man as to get so tied down to his work that 
he can’t see an inch beyond it. You can’t help get- 
ting interested in this place. It’s going ahead so. 
Now, the lake front there — ” 

Lawyer Ed was off on his pet scheme, the beautify- 
ing of that part of the lake front that was now made 
hideous by factory and mill and railroad track and 
rows of tumble-down boathouses. 

And Roderick listened half-heartedly, interested 
only because it interested his friend. They passed 
along the Jericho Road, with its sweet-smelling pines ; 
the soft mists of early autumn clothed Lake Algon- 
quin in a veil of amethyst. The long heavy grass by 
the roadside, and masses of golden-rod shining dimly 
in the evening-light told that summer had finished 
her task. She was waiting the call to leave. 


126 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


Lawyer Ed was not half through with the esplan- 
ade along the lake front when they reached Peter 
McDuff’s home. It was a forlorn old weather-beaten 
house with thistles and mullen and sturdy burdocks 
growing close to the doorway. An old gnarled 
apple-tree, weary and discouraged looking, stood at 
one side of the house, its blackened branches touching 
the ground. At the other lay a broken plow, on top 
of a heap of rubbish. A sagging wood-pile and a 
sorry-looking pump completed the dreariness. 

And yet there were signs of a better day. The 
dilapidated barn was well-built, the fences had once 
been strong and well put together, and around the 
house were the struggling remains of an old garden, 
with many a flower run wild among the thistles. The 
history of the home had followed that of its owner. 
Peter Fiddle had once been a highly respected man, 
with not a little education. His wife had been a 
good woman, and when their boy came, for a time, 
the father had given up his wild ways and his drink- 
ing and had settled down to work his little farm. 
But he never quite gave up the drink, though Angus 
McRae’s hand held him back from it many and many 
a time. But Angus had been ill for a couple of 
years, and Peter had gone very far astray when the 
helping hand was removed. 

He had gone steadily downward until his powers 
were wasted and his health ruined. His wife gave 
up the struggle, when young Peter was but a child, 
and closed her tired eyes on the dirt and misery of 


LAUNCHING HIS VESSEL m 


her ruined home. Then Angus McRae had regained 
his health and his grip on Peter, and since then, with 
many disappointments and backslidings, he had man- 
aged to bring him struggling back to a semblance of 
his old manhood. He was not redeemed yet. But 
old Angus never gave up hope. 

Poor Young Peter had grown up dull of brain and 
heavy of foot, handicapped before birth by the 
drink. But he had clung doggedly to that one idea 
which Angus McRae had drilled into him, that he 
must, as he valued his life, avoid that dread thing 
which had ruined his father and killed his mother. 

Lawyer Ed pulled up his horse before the house. 
Young Peter had not yet come in with the Inverness, 
but he looked about for Peter Fiddle. He had been 
sober for a much longer time than usual in this in- 
terval, and both he and Angus were keeping an anx- 
ious, hopeful eye upon him. 

I wonder where Peter is,” he said. 

For answer Roderick pointed down the road be- 
fore them. A horse and wagon stood close to the 
road-side. They drove up to it, and there, stretched 
on the seat of his wagon, his horse cropping the grass 
by the way-side, lay poor old Peter, dead drunk. 

‘‘Well, well, well!” cried Lawyer Ed in mingled 
disgust and disappointment. “ He’s gone again, and 
your father had such hopes of him ! ” He gave the 
lines to Roderick and leaped out. 

“ Hi, Peter 1 ” he shouted, shaking the man vio- 
lently. “ Wake up! It’s time for breakfast, man ! ” 


128 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


But Peter Fiddle made no more response than a 
log. And then a look of boyish mischief danced into 
Lawyer Ed’s young eyes. 

‘‘ Come here, Rod ! ” he cried. Let’s fix him up 
and see what he’ll do when we get back.” 

Roderick alighted and helped unhitch the old 
horse from the wagon. They led him back to the 
house, watered him, put him into the old stable and 
fed him. When they returned, Peter still lay asleep 
on the wagon seat, and they drove off, Lawyer Ed in 
a fit of boyish mirth. 

It was heavy news for old Angus when they sat 
around the supper table, eating Aunt Kirsty’s apple 
pie and cream ; but the good Samaritan was not dis- 
couraged. ‘‘ Well, well,” he said with a sigh, ‘‘ he 
kept away from it longer this time than ever. He’s 
improving. Eh, eh, poor body, poor Peter ! ” 

‘‘ It would seem as if the work of the Good Sa- 
maritan is never done, Angus,” said Lawyer Ed. 
“ I suppose there will always be thieves on the Jeri- 
cho Road.” 

‘‘ I was just wondering to-day,” said Angus 
thoughtfully, “ if, while we go on picking up the 
men on the Jericho Road, we couldn’t be doing some- 
thing to keep the thieves from doing their evil work. 
There’s Peter now. If we can’t keep him away from 
the drink, don’t you think we ought to try to keep 
the drink away from him?” 

“ Lawyer Ed’ll have to get a local option by-law 
passed in Algonquin, Father,” said Roderick. 


LAUNCHING HIS VESSEL 129 


“ Eh, Lad,” cried the old man, his face radiant, 
“ it is your father would be the happy man to see 
that day. There is a piece of work for you two 
now.” 

“ I’m ready,” cried Lawyer Ed enthusiastically. 
“ If I could only see that cursed traffic on the run 
it would be the joy of my life to encourage it with 
a good swift kick. We’ll start a campaign right 
away. Won’t we. Rod.'’ ” 

“ All right,” cried Roderick, pleased at the look 
in his father’s face. “ You give your orders. I’m 
here to carry them out.” 

‘‘ There, Angus ! You’ve got your policeman for 
the Jericho Road. We’ll do it yet. If we get the 
liquor business down, as Grandma Armstrong says, 
we’ll knock it conscientious.” 

Old Angus followed them to the gate when they 
drove away, his heart swelling with high hope. He 
would live to see all his ambitions realised in Rod- 
erick. He sat up very late that night and when he 
went to bed and remembered how the Lad had prom- 
ised to help rid Peter of the drink curse, he could 
not sleep until he had sung the long-meter doxology. 
He sang it very softly, for Kirsty was asleep and 
it might be hard to explain to her if she were dis- 
turbed; nevertheless he sang it with an abounding 
joy and faith. 

As Roderick and Lawyer Ed drove homeward, 
down the moon-lit length of the Pine Road, they 
were surprised to hear ahead of them, within a few 


130 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


rods of Peter Fiddle’s house, the sound of singing. 
Very wavering and uncertain, now loud and high, 
now dropping to a low wail, came the slow splendid 
notes of Kilmarnock to the sublime words of the 
103rd psalm. 

The two in the buggy looked at each other. “ Pe- 
ter ! ” cried Lawyer Ed in dismay. 

When Old Peter was only a little bit drunlc he in- 
clined to frivolity and gaiety, and was given to play- 
ing the fiddle and dancing, but when he was very 
drunk, he was very solemn, and intensely religious. 
He gave himself to the singing of psalms, and if 
propped up would preach a sermon worthy of Doc- 
tor Leslie himself. 

A turn in the road brought him into sight. 
There, between the silver mirror of the moonlit lake 
and the dark scented green of the forest, insensible 
to the beauty of either, sat the man. He was perched 
perilously on the seat of his wagon and was swaying 
from side to side, swinging his arms about him and 
singing in a loud maudlin voice, the fine old psalm 
that he had learned long, long ago before he became 
less than a man. 

Lawyer Ed pulled up before him. 

“Oh Peter, Peter!” he cried, “is this you.?” 

Peter Fiddle stopped singing, with the righteously 
indignant air of one whose devotions have been inter- 
rupted by a rude barbarian. 

“ And who will you be,” he demanded witheringly. 


LAUNCHING HIS VESSEL 131 


that dares to be speaking to the McDufF in such 
a fashion? Who will you be, indeed? ” 

Come, come, Peter, none of that,” said his friend 
soothingly. ‘‘ I cannot think who you are. You 
surely can’t be my old friend, Peter McDuff, sitting 
by the roadside this way. Who are you, anyway? ” 
Peter became suddenly grave. The question 
raised a terrible doubt in his mind. He looked about 
him with the wavering gaze of a man on board a 
heaving ship. His unsteady glance fell on the 
empty wagon shafts lying on the ground. He looked 
at them in bewilderment, then took off his old cap 
and scratched his head. 

“ How is this, I’d like to know? ” demanded Law- 
yer Ed, pushing his advantage. ‘‘ If you’re not 
Peter McDuff, who are you? And where is the 
horse gone? ” 

Roderick climbed out of the buggy, smothering 
his laughter, and leaving the two to argue the ques- 
tion, he went after the truant horse which might 
help to establish his master’s lost identity. Law- 
yer Ed dismounted and helped him hitch it, and 
apparently satisfied by its reappearance, Peter 
stretched himself on the seat and went soundly asleep 
again. He lay all undisturbed while they drove 
him in at his gate, and put his horse away once more. 
And he did not move even when they lifted him from 
his perch and, carrying him into the house, put him 
into his bed. 


ISa THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


And just as they entered the town they met poor 
young Peter plodding slowly and heavily towards 
his dreary home. 

“ We must do something for those two, Rod,” 
said Lawyer Ed, shaking his head pityingly. “We 
must get Local Option or something that’ll help 
Peter.” 

But Roderick was thinking of what Miss Leslie 
Graham had said, and wondering if it might mean 
that he would be asked to handle the big affairs of 
Graham and Company. 


CHAPTER VII 


“ MOVING TO MELODY ” 

T he first Sunday that Angus McRae drove 
along the lake shore and up to the church 
with Lawyer Ed’s partner sitting at his side, 
he was praying, all the way, to be delivered from 
the sin of pride. They left Aunt Kirsty at home 
as usual, with her Bible and her hymn-book, for 
the poor lady had grown so stout that she could 
not be lifted into buggy or boat or conveyance of any 
kind. They started early, but stopped so often on 
the road that they were none the earlier in arriving. 
For Angus must needs pause at the McDulf home, to 
see that young Peter was ready for church, and that 
old Peter was thoroughly sobered. And there was 
a huge bouquet of Aunt Kirsty’s asters to be left at 
Billy Perkins’s for the little girl who was sick. 
There were sounds of strife in Mike Cassidy’s home 
too, and Angus dismounted and went in to reason 
with Mike and the wife on the incongruity of throw- 
ing the dishes at each other, when they had spent 
the morning at mass. 

So when the Good Samaritan had attended to all 
133 


134 TPIE END OF THE RAINBOW 


on the Jericho Road there was not much time left, 
and the church bells were ringing when they drove 
under the green tunnel of Elm Street ; the Anglican, 
high, resonant and silvery, the Presbyterian, with 
a slow, deep boom, and between the two, and har- 
monising with both, the mellow, even roll of the 
Methodist bell. The call of the bells was being 
given a generous obedience, for already the streets 
were crowded with people. From the hills to the 
north and the west, from the level plain to the south 
they came, on foot, and in buggies. Even the peo- 
ple who lived across the lake or away down the shore 
were there, some having crossed the water in boats 
or launches. This means of conveyance, however, 
was regarded with some disfavour, as it too perilously 
resembled Sunday boating. The matter had even 
been brought up in the session by Mr. McPherson, 
who declared he objected to it, for there was no 
good reason why Christian people could not walk 
on the earth the Almighty had provided for them, on 
the Sabbath day. 

Roderick put away the horse into the shed, smil- 
ing tenderly when he found his father waiting at the 
gate for him. He wanted to walk around to the 
church door with his boy, so that they might meet 
his friends together. They were received in a man- 
ner worthy of the occasion, for the four elders who 
were ushering all left their posts and came forward 
to greet Angus McRae, knowing something of what 
a great day in his life this Sabbath was. J. P. 


‘‘MOVING TO MELODY” 


135 


Thornton and Jock McPherson ushered on one side 
of the church, Lawyer Ed and Captain McTavish 
on the other, a very fitting arrangement, which min- 
gled the old and the new schools. Only Lawyer Ed 
could never be kept in his own place, but ran all over 
the church and ushered wheresoever he pleased. 

The elders of Algonquin Presbyterian church were 
at their best when showing the people to their seats 
on a Sabbath morning. Each man did it in a truly 
characteristic manner. Captain Jimmie received 
the worshippers in a breezy fashion, as though the 
church were the Irvoerness and he were calling every 
one to come aboard and have a bit run on the lake 
and a cup-a-tea, whatever. Mr. McPherson shook 
hands warmly with the old folk, but kept the young 
people in their places, and well did every youngster 
know that did he not conduct himself in the sanctu- 
ary with becoming propriety, the cane the elder 
carried would likely come rapping down smartly on 
his unrighteous knuckles. J. P. Thornton’s wel- 
come was kindly but stately. He had grown stout 
and slightly pompous-looking during the passing 
years, and his fine, well-dressed figure lent quite an 
air of dignity to the whole church. But Lawyer 
Ed, ushering a stranger into the church, was a heart- 
warming sight. He seemed made for the part. He 
met one half-way down the steps with outstretched 
hands, marched him to the best seat in the place, 
even if he had to dislodge one of the leading families 
to do it, thrust a Bible and a hymn-book into his 


136 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


hand, and enquired if he were sure he would be com- 
fortable, all in a manner that made the newcomer 
feel as if the Algonquin church had been erected, a 
minister and elders appointed, and a congregation 
assembled all for the express purpose of edifying 
him on this particular Sabbath morning. 

He captured Angus McRae and showed him to his 
seat this morning with a happy bustle, for his pride 
and joy in the Lad’s return was only second to his 
own father’s. Roderick sat beside his father in their 
old pew near the rear of the church, gazing about 
him happily at the familiar scene. The people were 
filling up the aisles, with a soft hushed rustle. There 
was Fred Hamilton and his father, and Dr. Archie 
Blair and his family. Dr. Blair was rarely too busy 
to get to church on a Sunday morning, though he 
made a loud pretence of being very irreligious. It 
was rumoured that he carried a volume of Burns to 
church in his pocket instead of a Bible, a tale which 
the Doctor enjoyed immensely and took care not to 
contradict. There was a silken rustle at Roderick’s 
right hand, a breath of perfume, and Leslie Gra- 
ham, in a wonderful rose silk dress and big plumed 
hat, came up the aisle, followed by her father and 
mother. The Grahams were the most fashionable 
people in the church, and Mr. Graham was the only 
man who wore a high silk hat. He had been the first 
to wear the frock coat, but while many had followed 
his example in this regard, he was the only man who 
had, as yet, gone the length of the silk hat. Of 


‘‘MOVING TO MELODY” 


137 


course, Doctor Leslie had one, but every one felt 
that it was quite correct for a minister to wear such 
a thing. It was part of the clerical garb, and any- 
way he wore it only at weddings and funerals, show- 
ing it belonged to the office, rather than to the man. 
So Alexander Graham’s millinery was looked upon 
with some disfavour. He was a quiet man though, 
sensitive and retiring, and not given to vain display, 
and people felt that the sin of the silk hat very likely 
lay at the door of his fashionable wife and daugh- 
ter. 

The Grahams were no sooner seated than Leslie 
turned her handsome head, and glancing across the 
church towards Roderick, gave him a brilliant smile. 
But the young man did not catch the gracious fa- 
vour; he was looking just then at a group passing 
up the aisle to a seat almost in front of him ; 
Grandma Armstrong moving very slowly on her eld- 
est daughter’s arm. Miss Annabel in a youthful blue 
silk dress, and behind them a girlish figure in a white 
gown with a wealth of shining hair gleaming from 
beneath her wide hat. 

Helen Murray had come to church this first Sun- 
day with some fear. Her father’s voice spoke to her 
yet in every minister’s tones, and the place and the 
hour were all calculated to bring up memories hard 
to bear in public. She was just seated between 
Grandma and Miss Annabel when the former pulled 
her sleeve and enquired if she did not think the new 
gladiators very pretty. The girl followed the old 


138 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


lady’s eyes and saw they were indicating the shiny 
brass electroliers suspended from the ceiling. In 
happier days Helen had found laughter very easy. 
Her sense of humour had not been deadened by sor- 
row, it was only in abeyance, and now she felt it stir- 
ring into life. The little incident made her look 
around with interest. Certainly the Algonquin 
church was not a place calculated to make one in- 
dulge in melancholy. The Presbyterian congrega- 
tion was a virile one, bright and friendly and full of 
energy, and with very few exceptions, every one 
was at least fairly well off. With the aid of a 
generous expenditure of money they had expressed 
their congregational life in the decoration of the 
church ; so the place was comfortable and well lighted, 
and exceedingly bright in colouring. Around three 
sides ran a gallery with an ornamental railing, 
tinted pink. The walls were the same colour, ex- 
cept for a bright green dado beneath the gallery, 
and the vaulted ceiling was decorated with big bou- 
quets of flowers in a shade of pink and green slightly 
deeper than the walls and the dado. The carpet 
and the cushions — every inch of the floor was car- 
peted and every pew cushioned — ^were a warm bright 
crimson to match the organ pipes. The high Gothic 
windows were of brilliant stained glass, which, when 
the morning sun shone, threw a riot of colour over 
the worshippers. And indeed everything was warm 
and bright and shining, from the glittering new elec- 
troliers suspended from the pink ceiling, to the crim- 


‘‘MOVING TO MELODY” 139 

son baize doors which swung inward so hospitably at 
one’s approach. 

The church had been slowly filling, the choir filed 
into their places, the organ stopped playing Caval- 
lerla Rusticana, a hush fell over the place and Doc- 
tor Leslie, his white hair and black gown passing 
through the changing lights of the windows, came 
slowly out of the vestry and up to the pulpit. He 
was an old man now, but a vigorous one, and his 
sermons were still strong and full of the fire of his 
earlier years. He had never walked quite so 
smartly, nor spoken with quite his old vim since the 
day he had been left alone in the Manse. But 
through his bereavement his eye had grown a little 
kindlier, his handshake a little more sympathetic, 
his voice a little more tender. 

As he stood up and opened the Book of Praise to 
announce the first hymn, his glance involuntarily 
travelled, as it always did at the beginning of the 
service, to where old Angus’s white head shone in the 
amber light of the window, as though a halo of glory 
were about it. Old Angus had long ago learned to 
look for that glance, and returned it by a glow from 
his deep eyes. Whenever they sang the 112th psalm 
in Algonquin Presbyterian church, 

“ How blest the man mho fears the Lord, 

And makes His law his chief delight,^’ 

the minister looked down and thought how well the 
words described the sunny-faced old saint, and An- 


140 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


gus looked up and felt how aptly they fitted his 
pastor. 

Dr. Leslie had had Angus in his mind this morn- 
ing when he chose the 111th psalm for their opening 
praise, knowing how the old man’s heart would be 
lifted to his God this morning. 

“ Praise ye the Lord; with my whole heart 
The Lord's praise FU declare,” 

They sang it to “ Gainsborough,” the favourite tune 
of the old folk, for it gave an opportunity for rest- 
ful lingering on every word, and had in it all those 
much-loved trills and quavers that made up the true 
accompaniment of a Scottish psalm. They sang it 
spiritedly, as Algonquin Presbyterians always sang; 
the choir and the organ on one side, the congrega- 
tion on the other, each striving to gain the greater 
volume and power. For many years the choir had 
won out, for Lawyer Ed was leader, and the whole 
congregation would have been no match for him alone. 
But lately he had handed the leadership over to a 
young man whom he had trained up from the Sunday- 
school, and gone down to the opposition, where he 
sometimes gave the organist and the choir all they 
could do to be heard. And this morning, in his hap- 
piness over Roderick’s home-coming, he was at his 
best. 

There was only one little rift in the harmony 
of the whole congregation. In spite of Mr. Mc- 
Pherson’s objections. Lawyer Ed and J. P. Thorn- 


‘‘MOVING TO MELODY” 


141 


ton had succeeded in putting the “ Amen ” at the 
end of the psalms, as well as the hymns, and when 
the objectionable word came this morning, Jock sat 
down as he always did, heavily and noisily, exactly 
on the last word of the psalm proper, and pulled 
Mrs. Jock’s silk wrap to make her give a like con- 
demnation to the bit of popery. Lawyer Ed sat in 
the pew opposite Jock and heard the protesting 
creak of Jock’s seat when he descended and, in a spirit 
of mischief, he turned round till he faced the Mc- 
Pherson and rolled out the “ Amen ” directly at its 
objector. It was shocking conduct for an elder, as 
J. P. said afterwards, but then every one knew that 
though he should become Moderator of the General 
Assembly, Lawyer Ed would never grow up. 

The sermon was to young people. It was a call 
to them to give their lives in their morning to the 
true Master and Lord of life. Dr. Leslie took for 
his text the scene enacted on that great morning 
when two young fishermen had heard across the shin- 
ing water that call which, once truly heard by the 
heart’s ear, cannot be resisted, “ Come ye after Me.” 
There were young people in the church that morning 
who heard it as truly as the fisher lads that far gone 
morning on Galilee, and as truly obeyed it. Helen 
Murray listened, struggling with tears. She had 
grown up in a Christian home where the infiuence 
of father and mother were such that it was inevita- 
ble that she should early become a disciple of the 
Master they served. But she had faltered in her 


14^ THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


service since her griefs had come upon her in such 
a flood. She would never have allowed herself to 
grow selfish over her joys but sorrow had absorbed 
her. She did not realise, until this morning, that 
she was growing selfish over her trouble. The tender 
call came again — “ Come ye after Me,” sounding 
just as sweetly and impelling in the night of sorrow 
and stress as it ever did in the joyous morning. 

Roderick McRae was listening to the sermon too, 
but he did not hear the Voice. For in his young, 
eager ears was ringing the siren song of success. 
He had gone to church regularly in his absence from 
home, because he knew that the weekly letter to his 
father would lose half its charm did the son not 
give an account of the sermon he had heard the Sab- 
bath before. But much listening to sermons had 
bred in the young man the inattentive heart, even 
though the ear was doing its duty. Roderick ac- 
cepted sermons and church-going good-naturedly, as 
a necessary, respectable formality of life. That it 
must have a bearing on all life or be utterly meaning- 
less he did not realise. His plans for life had noth- 
ing to do with church, and the divine call fell upon 
his ears unheeded. 

When the sermon was drawing to a close. Lawyer 
Ed scribbled something on a scrap of paper and 
when he rose to take the offering he passed it up to 
the minister. Lawyer Ed never in his life got 
through a sermon without writing at least one note. 
This one was a request for St. George’s, Edinburgh, 


‘‘MOVING TO MELODY” 143 

as the closing psalm. He knew it was not the one 
selected, but something in the stirring words of the 
sermon, coupled with his joy over his boy’s return, 
had roused him so that nothing but the hallelujahs 
of that great anthem could express his feelings. 

IVhen Dr. Leslie arose at the close and announced, 
instead of the regular doxology, the 24th psalm, 
Harry Lauder, the leader of the choir, looked down 
at Lawyer Ed and smiled, and Lawyer Ed smiled 
back at him. The young man’s name was really 
Harry Lawson, but as he had a beautiful tenor voice, 
and could sing a funny Scottish song far better, ev- 
ery one in Algonquin said, that the great Scotch 
singer himself, he had been honoured by the slight 
but significant change in his name. And when Harry 
Lauder smiled down at Lawyer Ed at the announce- 
ment of St. George’s, Edinburgh, every one knew 
what it meant. When Lawyer Ed had given up the 
choir, under the pressure of other duties, and put 
Mr. Lawson in his place, he delivered this ultimatum 
to his successor: “Now look here, youngster. I am 
not used to being led by any one, either in singing or 
in anything else, but I promise that as far as I can. 
I’ll follow you in the church service. But there’s 
one tune in which I’ll follow no living man, no, nor 
congregation of massed bands, and that’s St. 
George’s, Edinburgh. I just can’t help it, Harry ; 
when the first note of that tune comes rolling out, I 
am neither to hold nor to bind. Now I don’t want 
to have it spoiled by see-sawing, that would be bias- 


lU THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


phemous. So you just tell the organist that I 
have a weakness comes over me when that tune is 
sung, and tell him to listen, and follow me. And you 
do the same.” 

So every one knew that when St. George’s, Edin- 
burgh, was sung. Lawyer Ed became the leader of 
the choir and congregation pro tern. No one needed 
to be told, however, for none could help following 
him. And he had never thrown himself into it with 
more abandon than on this sunny morning with the 
Eternal Call sounding again in the ears of all who 
had truly heard the sermon. 

Ye gates lift up yowr heads on high! ” 

He was glorious on the first stanza, he was magnifi- 
cent on the second. He climbed grandly up the 
heights of its crescendo: — 

“ doors that last for aye. 

Be lifted up that so the King of glory enter may^^ 

in ever growing power and volume; up to the won- 
der of the question — 

“ But who is He that is the King of glory? ” 
up to the rapture of the response: — 

“ The Lord of Hosts and none hut He 
The King of Glory is,’' 

And then out he came upon the heights of the re- 
frain, with all the universe conquered and at his feet. 


‘'MOVING TO MELODY” 


145 


When the first Hallelujah burst from the congrega- 
tion, mounting splendidly at his side, the leader 
closed his book. He flung it upon the seat, tore off 
his glasses, clasped his hands behind him, and let 
himself go. And with a mighty roar he swept con- 
gregation, choir, organ, everybody, up into a thunder 
of praise. 

“ Hallelujah^ Hallelujah, Amen, Amen.** 

It might not have been considered finished by a 
musical critic, it may have lacked restraint and nicety 
of shading ; but no one who heard the Algonquin con- 
gregation that morning singing “Ye Gates lift up 
your heads,” led by Lawyer Edward Brians, could 
doubt that it was surely some such fine fresh rapture 
that rang through the aisles of Heaven on that crea- 
tion day when the morning stars sang together and 
all the Sons of God shouted for joy. 

Helen Murray bowed her head for the benedic- 
tion, the stinging tears rushing to her eyes, but they 
were not tears of sorrow. For the moment she had 
forgotten there was such a thing as pain. She had 
lost it as she had been swept up to the glad peaks of 
song. For one trembling moment she had caught 
a glimpse of a new wonder, the whole world moving, 
through sorrow and pain and dull misunderstanding, 
surely and swiftly up to God. And for that instant 
her soul had leaped forward, too, to meet Him. She 
came down from the heights ; no mortal could live 
there, seeing things that were not lawful to utter. 


146 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


But from that first Sunday in Algonquin church her 
outlook on her new life was changed. She had seen 
the end of her rainbow. It was back of mists and 
clouds and storms, but it was there ! And she could 
never* again be quite so sad. 

The congregation slowly filed out of the pews and 
down the aisles, chatting in soft hushed voices, until 
the organist pulled out all the stops and played a 
lively air, and then the conversation rose to suit the 
accompaniment. Mr. McPherson had objected to 
the pipe-organ, to the hired organist from the city, 
and finally and most vigorously to the musical dis- 
persion of the congregation. If the body must play 
for the church service, Jock conceded, well, he must; 
but why he must paw and trample and harry the 
noisy thing, when church was over and done with, 
was a mystery that no right thinking person could 
solve. The organist, when approached with the el- 
der’s objections, had answered with dignity that all 
the city churches did it, and Jock’s case was hope- 
lessly lost. For when Algonquin was told that in 
the city they did thus and so, then Algonquin would 
do that thing too if it had meant burning down the 
church. So the congregation went down the aisles, 
sailing merrily on a flood of gay music, and as they 
went. Miss Annabel introduced the new teacher to 
several of the young folk of the church, who asked 
her to join the Christian Endeavor and the Young 
Women’s Society, and the Young People’s Bible class 
and to come to the picnic to-morrow afternoon in 


“MOVING TO MELODY” 


147 


the park and the moonlight sail on Friday evening, 
and assured her that she would like Algonquin, and 
wasn’t it a very pretty place? 

As they passed down the steps, a slim young man, 
dressed immaculately in the height of fashion, came 
tripping up to them and addressed Miss Annabel in 
the most abjectly polite manner. 

“ Good morning, Mr. Wilbur,” said the lady 
coldly, “ I am sure you must welcome Sunday. I 
suppose you are working so hard these days.” It 
was very cruel of Miss Annabel, for poor Afternoon 
Tea Willie had not yet been able to get an introduc- 
tion to the lady of his dreams, and he really did work 
very hard indeed, and his was the employment from 
which there was no respite even on Sundays. But 
she hurried Helen on without further notice of him. 
Roderick was watching the little play with some 
amusement as he stood waiting for his father, who 
had stopped to have a word with the minister. As 
he did so he was puzzled to see Fred Hamilton pass 
him without so much as a word. He was concluding 
that his old acquaintance had not seen him, when he 
heard a merry laugh at his elbow and there stood 
Miss Leslie Graham. 

“Did you see poor Freddy?” she cried. “Oh, 
dear, dear, I told on him after all, and he’s mad at 
everybody in the town, you included, evidently. Now 
here’s Daddy. He’s dying to meet you. Here, 
Dad, this is the man that did the deed.” 

Mr. Graham took Roderick’s hand and held it 


148 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


while he thanked him, in a voice that trembled, for 
saving his daughter’s life. Roderick was attempt- 
ing to disclaim any heroism in the matter, when 
Mrs. Graham fell upon him with a rustle of silks, 
and fairly overwhelmed him with gratitude. Then 
two or three others came up and demanded to know 
what it was all about and Roderick was overcome 
with embarrassment and was thankful when his fa- 
ther appeared and he could make his escape. 

Lawyer Ed came to the buggy to say good-bye 
to Angus and to enquire what was the collie-shankie 
at the kirk door, and when he heard, he slapped Rod- 
erick on the back. Well, well, look here, my lad,” 
he cried, “ why, your fortune is as good as made. 
Sandy Graham has been mad at me for the space of 
twenty-five years or more about something or other 
— what was it now? Bless me if I haven’t forgotten 
what. But he nearly left the church over it, and en- 
tirely left the law firm of Brians & Co.” The be- 
reaved head of the firm put back his head at the rec- 
ollection, shut his eyes, and laughed long and heart- 
ily. “ But you’ve got him back again all right, and 
I tell you this, my lad, if you get his business your 
fortune is just about made. Only don’t go and lose 
your heart to the handsome young lady while you 
need a steady head ! ” 

They drove away, and while the father talked on 
the drive home of the sermon, the son answered ab- 
sently; his thoughts were all with the piece of good 
luck which had come his way by such a mere chance. 


CHAPTER VIII 


FLOATED THE GLEAM ” 

E ver since Leslie Graham was old enough 
to know what she wanted she had always 
managed to get it. She was the only child 
of wealthy parents, as Algonquin counted wealth. 
Her father was absorbed in business, and felt he 
had done his duty by his daughter when he gave her 
money enough to be the best dressed girl in the town. 
Her mother’s creed in regard to bringing up chil- 
dren was to give the dears a good time when they 
were young, they would grow old soon enough. So 
Leslie’s time and energies were bent to the two main 
tasks of life, unconsciously set her by her parents, 
to spend as much money as possible on clothes, and 
to have a good time. 

She had been named, as many another girl of the 
congregation, Margaret Leslie, after the minister’s 
wife ; she was a member of the church ; she had been 
brought up to attend Sunday-school and mission 
band, and to be helpful in all social functions of the 
congregation; and withal she was frankly and hap- 
pily, and entirely pagan. 

The earliest lesson life had taught her was that, 
149 


150 THE END OE THE RAINBOW 

if she wanted anything, screams generally produced 
the desired object. The second lesson was that, 
when screams failed, one must scramble down from 
one’s high chair and go after the prize and wrest it 
from table or sideboard or high eminence, no matter 
how much hard climbing or bumps were entailed. 

So when Roderick McRae became desirable in her 
eyes, in her usual straightforward manner, she 
frankly sought him out and demanded his attention. 
His sudden appearance on the evening of her loss of 
self-confidence, the appeal his rescue had made to 
her girlish imagination, and the charm of the forbid- 
den that hung over Old Angus McRae’s son made him 
a real Prince Charming. She was quite certain that 
he needed only to know that she liked him, to be im- 
mediately her slave. He seemed very shy and hard 
to convince that she cared, but that was natural, 
considering the wide difference in their social posi- 
tions. 

On the Monday morning after her father’s arrival 
home, when he was ready to go down to the bank, she 
suddenly appeared, dressed in her prettiest white 
gown and announced her intention of accompanying 
him, 

‘‘ Well, well, I feel highly flattered,” he declared, 
as they walked down the garden path together. 
Then, as he opened the gate for her, he asked, with 
a knowing twinkle in his eye, for he was an astute 
business man, and accustomed to divining people’s 
motives, Now, what do you want to wheedle out of 


'‘FLOATED THE GLEAM” 


151 


me this morning? You’ve been for a trip already, 
and it can’t be a new dress.” 

She laughed and, as was her way, went straight 
to the point. ‘‘ No, it’s a new young man. Daddy. 
I want you to do something nice for Roderick McRae. 
Haven’t you a big chunk of business you need a law- 
yer for? ” 

Her father frowned. “ Tut, tut, if I’ve got to 
give some work to every young man that does you a 
favour, my business will be gone to the dogs in a 
month.” 

“ A favour ! Why, Father Graham, He saved my 
life ! ” cried the girl solemnly. 

“ Yes, dear, I realise that, and I’d like to do some- 
thing for him. But Ed Brians, I can’t stand. He 
wants to run everything in the town. He pretty 
nearly does, but he’s not going to run my business. 
You mind that ! ” 

Though Lawyer Ed had completely forgotten the 
cause of the trouble between them, Alexander Gra- 
ham had not. Upon a certain date, years earlier, 
the belligerent young elder had tramped into a man- 
agers’ meeting, denounced a money-saving scheme of 
Manager Graham’s, and called the assembled breth- 
ren all misers and skinflints. The managers had suc- 
cumbed, in the most friendly manner, all except 
Sandy Graham. He had resigned instead, and had 
tended his grievance carefully until, from a small 
shoot, in ten years it had grown up into a flourish- 
ing tree with deep and tenacious roots. 


152 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


There was another cause of dissension, too. Alex- 
ander Graham had a brother named William, a 
lawyer, who lived in New York and was reputed fab- 
ulously wealthy. And he was an old and staunch 
friend of Lawyer Ed, who could not and would not 
be moved from his loyalty, no matter how many 
grievances Sandy placed before him. Bill was for- 
ever putting business in the way of Edward Brians, 
and his brothers jealousy and ill-feeling grew 
stronger as the years passed. 

Lawyer Ed paid not the slightest attention to 
Sandy Graham’s enmity. He invariably treated the 
old friend with an overwhelming good-humour which 
only served to increase the irritation. 

Leslie Graham knew all this, but she cared not a 
pin’s worth for her father’s quarrels. She was not 
going to have her plans spoiled by a mere parent. 

“Now, Daddy dear!” she cried, knowing exactly 
how to manage him, “ I should think you’d have wit 
enough to see that Lawyer Ed would hate you to give 
your business to his young partner far worse than 
to give it to Willoughby. There’s that new lumber 
scheme. You can give Roderick that and tell him 
Lawyer Ed’s not to know anything about it, eh? ” 
The man hesitated. He was at that moment on 
his way to the law firm of Willoughby and Baldwin 
to put into their hands the work of negotiating with 
the British North American R. R. Company regard- 
ing some timber limits in New Ontario. It was a 
complicated piece of business, needing careful ban- 


‘‘FLOATED THE GLEAM” 


153 


dling. He had not much faith in Willoughby — ^he 
was too old, and less in Baldwin, who was too young. 
This young McRae, being the son of Angus McRae, 
would be honest, there was no doubt of that, and 
evidently he had ability. And while he hesitated, 
and his daughter argued and cajoled, they came to 
the door of Lawyer Ed’s office. Roderick was 
standing there alone, having just seen his partner off 
down the street. Miss Leslie Graham took matters 
into her own hands with her usual charming audacity. 

“ Good morning, Mr. Roderick McRae,” she cried. 
“ Here’s my respected parent can’t make up his mind 
about a piece of backwoods he owns away back of 
beyond somewhere, so I just steered him down here. 
He was just saying on the way down that he would 
rather have the firm of Brians and McRae do his 
business than any one he knew of. Weren’t you, 
Papa.^ Now you go in there with Roderick, and I 
shall call for you when I come back from my shop- 
ping. Bye, bye.” 

She shoved him up the steps and right in at the 
door, and skipped away, laughing over her shoulder 
at the trick she had played. Her father stood a 
moment looking after her, not knowing whether to 
be angry or amused. She turned and winked at him 
when she reached the bottom of the steps, and his 
anger vanished. He laughed indulgently, threw up 
his hands with a helpless gesture and followed Rod- 
erick into the office. And before he stated his busi- 
ness he spent a half-hour telling how much his 


154i THE END OE THE RAINBOW 

daughter was to him and how grateful he was to 
Roderick for what he had done. 

Roderick’s eyes shone when the new work was laid 
before him. It was a big thing, bigger than had 
ever come the way of that little office in all the years 
it had done business in Algonquin. It fired his am- 
bition to make good. The shrewd business man saw 
the look in the young lawyer’s eye, and he did not re- 
gret the step Leslie had forced him to take. 

If you see that those rascals don’t get the 
better of us, Mr. McRae,” he said in parting, “ I 
need not tell you that you will profit by it as well as 
ourselves.” 

Roderick thanked him for his trust. When 
Mr. Brians comes in — ” he commenced, but his client 
interrupted. 

“ I want it to be distinctly understood that this is 
your work entirely, Mr. McRae,” he said. Mr. 
Brians will understand.” 

Lawyer Ed did understand, and laughed long and 
loud over what he called Sandy Graham’s extreme 
Scotchness. But he was vastly pleased that Roder- 
ick was to have a chance of showing what he could 
do, and that the wide business interests of Graham 
and Company were to be once more in their hands. 

And now Roderick plunged into work with all his 
might. When the news spread that Graham and 
Co. had given a big transaction into the hands of 
Lawyer Ed’s young partner, others followed. Law- 
yer Ed himself was a shrewd advocate, but every one 


“FLOATED THE GLEAM” 


155 . 


knew that his business tendencies ran on certain lines. 
His chief concern had always been to settle family 
troubles, rather than to make money out of them. 
Many a puzzled farmer he had saved from losing in 
an unjust bargain when the opposite course would 
have meant money for himself. Many a family on 
the verge of disintegration over a will had been 
brought together and made happy, because their 
lawyer was more bent on their welfare than his own. 
Roderick intended fully to keep up the fine old 
standards of the firm as far as possible. But he 
was determined to be much more than the legal ad- 
viser of all the folk living around Algonquin who 
couldn’t do business themselves. 

He took his mid-day meal at the Algonquin House 
the leading hotel, and won the favour of Mr. Crofter, 
the proprietor. And there came to the oflSce of Bri- 
ans and McRae one day, much to the senior partner’s 
amazement, Mr. Crofter himself, with some mining 
concerns he had in the north. Mr. Crofter had 
never quite seen eye to eye with Lawyer Ed, since 
the latter had declared flatly and loudly, at a tea- 
meeting given by the Sons of Temperance, that a man 
who sold liquor over a bar was a curse to the com- 
munity. But Mr. Crofter knew when he wanted his 
business well done. He distrusted almost every one 
in Algonquin, but he knew old Angus McRae’s son 
would be incapable of dishonesty. 

The second surprise came a few months later when 
the success of Crofter’s deal had made the young law- 


156 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


yer’s name. Alexander Graham took all his business 
out of the hands of the Willoughby firm, and gave 
it to Brians & McRae. 

That evening Roderick was asked to the Grahams 
for dinner, as a further honour. He went with some 
trepidation, as it was his first venture into society. 
Mr. Graham was exceedingly genial, and Leslie was 
charming, but the lady of the house was rather dis- 
tant, She could not help seeing Leslie’s partiality 
towards Roderick and resented it. As her husband’s 
lawyer, the young man was quite acceptable, but as 
a possible aspirant to his daughter’s favour he would 
be entirely out of place. Fred Hamilton was the 
only other one present outside the family. The 
young man sat in sulky silence most of the evening, 
a circumstance which seemed to put his pretty 
hostess into a high good humour. 

The invitation to the Grahams was the signal for 
other doors to open. Roderick was invited every- 
where. And wherever he went there was Miss Les- 
lie Graham, the belle of every occasion, and always 
ready to bestow her greatest favours upon him. He 
always looked about him at these gay gatherings of 
young people half-expecting to see the young lady 
he had met on the Inverness; but he was always 
disappointed, and wondered why she did not ap- 
pear. 

Helen Murray, herself, often wondered why she 
was not bidden to the many festivities of which she 
heard the gay Miss Annabel talk. 


‘‘FLOATED THE GLEAM” 157 


“ You will probably be invited out a great deal, 
Miss Murray,” Miss Armstrong cautioned her, “ and 
I hope you will select very carefully the places you 
visit. You see you are practically one of our family, 
and though we respect all grades of society, you 
must realise that we have a position to maintain. 
And I hope you won’t think me interfering, my dear ; 
but if you would consult Annabel and me, as ter 
accepting an invitation, I think it would be wise. 
We should like so much to have you of our set.” 

Helen obeyed, a little puzzled, but afraid to act 
against the judgment of her august hostess. So she 
found herself soon bidden to afternoon teas and re- 
ceptions and all the affairs where the older set at- 
tended? She met no one of her own age, however, 
except Miss Annabel who called them all old frumps, 
and declared married folk were deadly dull, and she 
would never go near their parties again so long as 
she lived. And she fell into a state of nervous ap- 
prehension, when the approach of the next afternoon 
tea was rumoured abroad, lest she should not be 
invited. Poor Miss Annabel was being slowly but 
surely pushed on into the older set by the younger 
generation. She hated her position, but it was the 
only one left, and it was better than the dread deso- 
lation of no position at all. 

Helen kept away from the whirl, finding her duties 
at school sufficient excuse. She often longed for 
some young life, however, and wondered why she did 
not meet the daughters of the ladies who were so 


158 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


kind to her when she went out under Miss Arm- 
strong’s wing. 

She did not know as yet that the reason was two- 
fold. First, the younger set were a little more ex- 
clusive than the one in which the Misses Armstrong 
moved. Young Algonquin had but recently awak- 
ened to the fact that society was not society unless 
you built a fence about it and kept somebody — it 
didn’t matter much who — out. The other and 
more potent reason was Helen’s unfortunate sex. 
There were already far too many young ladies in Al- 
gonquin. A young man with exactly her claims to 
recognition would have been received with acclaim. 
But, except in holiday time, there was always a sad 
dearth of young men in Algonquin, if not an actual 
famine. So no wonder the young ladies rather re- 
sented the appearance of another girl to join their 
already too swollen ranks, and especially a girl so 
undeniably attractive as the new school teacher. 

Quite unconscious of all this, Helen spent many a 
lonely evening at her window looking down at the gay 
crowds passing along the street towards the lake, 
and listening drearily to their happy voices floating 
under the leafy tunnel of the trees. 

She dared not join the groups that would have 
welcomed her, the young folk who earned their living 
and who made the church a centre of social inter- 
course for the lonely. Miss Armstrong had politely 
given her to understand that she would not be wel- 
come in Rosemount, if she associated with the girls 


‘‘FLOATED THE GLEAM” 159 

who stood behind the counter, or worked in a dress- 
maker’s shop. 

She often saw Miss Leslie Graham as she darted 
into the house and out again, on a flying visit to her 
grandmother, but she had no opportunity of meeting 
her. 

So in spite of her brave attempts to forget her 
grief in her work, and in spite of Madame’s unfailing 
kindness and help, the girl was often very lonely. 
The big echoing house of Rosemount was always de- 
serted of an evening. Grandma went to bed, and 
either Helen or the little maid was left on guard, 
while the two ladies went to a dinner-party or an 
evening at cards. 

One soft languorous September evening, the loneli- 
ness promised to be unbearable, and she determined 
to go alone for a walk. Madame was always too 
tired for a tramp after school, and she knew no one 
else who would accompany her. 

She spoke of it at the tea-table in the faint hope 
that Miss Annabel might suggest coming too, but was 
disappointed. 

“ Why that’ll be lovely, dearie,” she cried, “ go and 
have a run in the park. It will do you good. I’d 
dearly love to go with you, but there’s Mrs. Captain 
Willoughby’s musicale. There won’t be a soul there 
that isn’t old enough to be in her dotage, but I 
promised that nothing short of sudden death would 
make me miss it.” 

“ Annabel, I am surprised at you,” said her sister 


160 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


reprovingly. I wouldn’t go far in the evening 
alone, Miss Murray,” she added in her stately way. 
‘‘ It does not seem just — ^well — exactly proper, don’t 
you know.” 

“ Nonsense, Elinor. How’s the poor child to help 
going alone, when there’s no one to go with her.? ” 

Helen had learned to look for these slight alter- 
cations at the table. While the sisters were appar- 
ently of one mind on all the larger issues of life, they 
had a habit of arguing and cavilling over the little 
things that often left their young boarder in a state 
of wonder. 

She slipped away as soon as the meal was over, 
for the evenings were growing short and she wanted 
to see the lake in its sunset glory. The night was 
warm and aU the young people were on the lake. 
The streets were deserted. But on the pretty vine- 
clad verandas, the heads of families sat sewing or 
reading and smoking, with the little ones tumbling 
about the grass. On one veranda a gramophone, the 
first in the town, screeched out a strain from a Grand 
Opera to the wonder and admiration of all the neigh- 
bours. Helen moved along the street more lonely 
than ever in the midst of all this home happiness. 
She passed a little cottage where a young man and 
woman were tying up a rose vine, beaten down by 
recent rains. Madame had told her they had been 
married just the week before. They looked very 
happy, laughing and whispering like a couple of nest- 
building robins, as they worked together to make 


‘‘FLOATED THE GLEAM” 


161 


their little home more beautiful. She had to hurry 
away from the pretty scene. Some one had promised 
her once that there should be a rose vine over their 
porch in the new home he had been planning for her. 

She turned a corner and was alarmed by a great 
churning and puffing noise ahead, as though the In- 
verness had left her native element and come sailing 
up Main Street. But it was only Captain Wil- 
loughby in his new automobile. It was the first, and 
as yet the only machine in Algonquin, and its un- 
happy owner would have sold it to the lowest bidder 
could he have found any one foolish enough to bid at 
all. For so far, the captain had had no opportunity 
to learn to run it. His first excursions abroad had 
been attended with such disaster, such mad career- 
ing of horses, and plunging into ditches, such dis- 
maying paralysis of the engine right in the middle of 
a neighbour’s gateway, such inexplicable excursions 
onto the sidewalk and through plate glass windows, 
such harrowing overturning of baby-carriages, that 
Mrs. Captain Willoughby took an attack of nerves 
every time he went abroad, and the town fathers 
finally requested that the captain take out his Jug- 
gernaut car only at such hours as the streets were 
clear. So on quiet evenings such as this one, when 
there were not likely to be any horses abroad, Mrs. 
Willoughby telephoned all her friends and told them 
to take in the children for the captain was coming. 
And so, heralded, like the Lady Godiva, the trem- 
bling motorist went forth, while the streets immedi- 


162 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


atelj became as empty as those of Coventry, with 
rows of peeping Toms, safe inside their fences, jeer- 
ing at the unhappy man’s uneven progress. He 
whizzed past Helen at a terrible speed, grazing the 
side-walk and giving her almost as great a fright as 
he got himself, and went whirring up the hill. 

She did not want to join the crowds in the park 
so she followed the familiar street past the school, 
and out along the Pine Road toward the lake shore. 
But when she found her way was leading her through 
Willow Lane, where all the dirty and poor people of 
Algonquin lived, she turned off into a path that 
crossed a field and led to the water. Helen had some 
little pupils from Willow Lane, and their appearance 
did not invite a closer acquaintance with their homes. 

She did not know that she was passing near the 
back of Old Peter McDufF’s farm, but she noticed 
that the fences were conveniently broken down, and 
left a path clear down to the water’s edge. 

Lake Algonquin lay before her in its evening glory, 
a glory veiled and softened by the amethyst veil the 
autumn was weaving. The water was as still and 
as clear as a mirror. To her left the town nestled in 
a soft purple mist, the gay voices from the park were 
softened and sweetened by the distance. Straight 
ahead of her lay Wawa island, an airy thing floating 
lightly on the water, and reflected perfectly in its 
depths. 

At one end of its dark greenery autumn had 
hung out a banner to herald her coming — a scar- 


“FLOATED THE GLEAM” 


163 


let sumach. A yellowing maple leaf fell at Helen’s 
feet as she passed. Along the water’s edge where 
the birches grew thick arose a great twittering and 
chattering. The long southern flight was already 
being discussed. Away out beyond the island a 
canoe drifted along on the golden water. Some one 
seated in it was picking a mandolin and singing, 

Good-bye, Summer.” 

Helen slipped down the path where the birches 
and elms, entwined with the bitter-sweet, hung over 
the water. A little point jutted out with a big rock 
on the end of it. She took oflF her hat, seated herself 
upon the rock, and drank in the silence and peace of 
the calm evening. 

A little launch went rap-rap-rap across the clear 
glass of the water, leaving a long trail of light behind 
it like a comet, and the sweet evening odours were 
mingled with the unsavoury scent of gasoline. Helen 
had often sped joyfully over the bay at home in just 
such a noisy little craft, quite unconscious of being 
obnoxious to any one else. It was not the first time 
she had found her view-point was changing. She 
seemed to have been drifted ashore in a wreck, and 
to be sitting looking on at the life she had lived with 
wonder and sometimes with disapproval. The launch 
passed, the evening shadows deepened, but she still 
sat wrapped in the deeper shadows of her own sad 
thoughts. 

She had no idea how long she had sat there when 
she was roused by the sudden appearance of a canoe 


164 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


right at her side. It had stolen up silently, pro- 
pelled by the noiseless stroke of a practised paddler, 
and went past her like a ghost. The young man 
kneeling in the stern had something of the perfectly 
balanced play of muscle, and poise of lithe figure that 
belonged to the Indian. For in spite of his Anglo- 
Saxon blood, Roderick McRae was as much a prod- 
uct of this land of lake and forest as the Red Skin. 
He had almost passed her, when he looked up and 
saw her for the first time. He gave a start; it 
seemed too good to be true. But she bowed so dis- 
tantly that his hesitating paddle dipped again. He 
went on slowly, too shy to intrude. He had taken 
but a few strokes when from away behind her on the 
darkening land, came a loud sound of singing. Peter 
Fiddle was drunk again. Feeling very grateful to 
Peter for the excuse, Roderick turned about, with an 
adroit twist of his paddle, and glided back till he was 
opposite her. 

‘‘ Excuse me. Miss Murray,” he stammered, feel- 
ing his old shyness return, “ but — are you alone 
here ? ” 

“ Yes,” said the girl a slight wonder in her voice 
at the question. ‘‘ I came down for a walk and — ” 
she turned and glanced behind her and gave an ex- 
clamation at the darkness of the woods. She had for- 
gotten the magic power the water has of gathering 
and holding the sunset light long after darkness has 
wrapped the earth. “ Oh, I had no idea it was so 
late ! ” she cried in dismay. 


“FLOATED THE GLEAM” 


165 


Roderick joyfully ran his canoe up close to the 
rock. The fear in her voice made him forget his 
embarrassment. “ I don’t wish to trouble you,” he 
said, ‘‘ but it isn’t wise to go home that path through 
the woods alone.” He hesitated. He did not like 
to tell her that Old Peter might come down there ra- 
ging drunk, and that at the head of Willow Lane she 
might meet with another drunken row between Mike 
Cassidy and his wife. ‘‘ Oh dear ! ” she cried, “ how 
could I be so foolish? I never dreamed of its being 
so dark and I forgot — ” 

‘‘ If you will let me I’ll take you home,” said Rod- 
erick eagerly, in my canoe.” 

He was immeasurably relieved at her answer. 

‘‘ Let you ? ” she cried gratefully. “ Why, I’ll be 
ever so much obliged to you. I am sorry to be such 
a trouble. I don’t see how I was so careless,” she 
added in frank apology. 

Roderick knew he ought to say it was no trouble, 
but a pleasure. But he was too shy and too happy. 
He succeeded only in mumbling, ‘‘ Oh, not at all,” or 
something equally vague. 

He brought the canoe close to the rock and held 
out his hand. She stepped in very carefully, and 
with something the air of one venturing out on a very 
thin piece of ice. 

‘‘ It’s the first time I ever stepped into a canoe,” 
she said a little tremulously. He steadied her with 
his hand, smiling a little at her graceful awkwardness. 
Then he showed her how to place herself in the little 


166 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


seat in the centre, with a cushion at her back. He 
did it clumsily enough for he was embarrassed and 
nervous in her presence. In all his years of paddling 
about the lake it was but the second time he had taken 
a young lady into his canoe, and the first one he had 
rescued out of the water, and this one off a lonely 
point of land. So he was not versed in the proper 
things to say to a lady when taking her for a paddle. 

The canoe slipped silently out from the rock and 
slid along the darkening shore. Only the faintest 
suggestion of the sunset glow lay on the softly glim- 
mering surface of the water. But they had gone only 
a few yards, when there came a new miracle to re- 
make the scene. From behind the black bulk of the 
pine clad island peeped a great round harvest moon, 
and suddenly the whole world of land and water was 
painted anew in softer golden tints veiled in silver. 
The girl sat silent and awe-struck. Was there never 
to be an end to the wonders of this place.? “Oh,” 
she said in a whisper, “ isn’t it beautiful.? ” 

Roderick looked, and was silent too. 

Yes, it was very wonderful he thought, more won- 
derful to him than she dreamed. He felt as if he 
could paddle on forever over the shining lake with the 
magic colours of moon-rise and sunset meeting in the 
golden hair of the girl opposite him. They went on 
for a long time in silence. They passed into the 
shadow of the island with silver lances through the 
trees barring their path. The dewy scent of pine and 
cedar stole out from the dark shore. The silver 


‘‘FLOATED THE GLEAM” 


167 


light grew brighter, the whole lake was lit up with a 
soft white radiance. 

“ Have you always lived here? ” she asked at last 
in a whisper, an unspoken fear in her voice lest a 
sound disturb the fair surroundings and they vanish, 
leaving them in a common, every day world of ma- 
terial things. 

“ Always,” said Roderick in the same hushed tone, 
though for a different reason. “ I was bom on the 
old farm back here.” 

“ Then I wonder if you know how lovely it all is ? ” 

“ Perhaps not. But it is home to me, you know, 
and that gives an added charm.” 

“ Yes,” she said and checked a sigh. “ And you’ve 
always paddled about here I suppose.” 

“ I never remember when I learned. But I re- 
member my first excursion alone. I was just six. 
Old Peter McDuff who lives on the next farm used to 
tell me fairy tales. And he told me there was a pot 
of gold at the end of the rainbow, waiting for the 
man bold enough to go after it. I felt that I was the 
man, and I paddled off one evening when there was a 
rainbow in the sky. I got lost in the fog, and my 
father and a search-party found me drifting away 
out on the lake. And I didn’t bring home the pot of 
gold.” 

“Nobody ever does,” she said drearily. “And 
every one is hunting it.” They were silent for a 
moment, the girl thinking of how she too had gone 
after a vanishing rainbow. Then the memory of that 


168 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 

vision of the first Sunday morning in Algonquin 
church came to her. There was a rainbow some- 
where, with the treasure at the foot ; one that did not 
vanish either if one persisted in its pursuit. 

She tried to say something of this to Roderick, 
fearing her sombre words had set him to recalling 
her secret. 

“ I suppose it is perfect happiness,” he said. If 
so, I never met any one who had found it, except — 
yes, I believe I know one.” 

“ Who ? ” she asked eagerly. 

“ My father,” answered Roderick gently. 

“ I have heard of him,” she said, smiling at the 
glow of pride in the son’s eyes. “ And where did he 
discover it? ” 

Roderick laughed. “ I suppose it’s in the heart, 
after all; but my father is never so happy as when 
he is in the midst of misery. His pot of gold seems 
to lie down on Willow Lane.” 

‘‘On Willow Lane? Why that’s where all those 
dreadfully poor, dirty people live, isn’t it ? ” 

“ Yes. They are an unsavoury bunch down there. 
That’s where Mr. and Mrs. Cassidy throw the house- 
hold furniture at each other, and Billy Perkins 
starves his family for drink, and where the celebrated 
Peter McDuff plays the fiddle every night at the 
tavern. He might have serenaded you, if you had 
gone back home by the road.” 

She smiled gratefully and her smile was very beau- 
tiful. But her thoughts were in Willow Lane. 


‘‘FLOATED THE GLEAM” 


169 


There were worse things there that Roderick did not 
mention, but she had heard of them. It was a 
strange and wonderful thing that the saintly-faced 
old man with the white hair, whom she had seen with 
Roderick at church, should find his happiness among 
such people. 

Roderick had paddled as slowly as it was possible 
to move, but he could not prolong the little voyage 
any further. They were at the landing. 

“ I have made you come away back here,” she said, 
“ and now you will be so late getting home. I must 
let you go back at once. Good night, and thank 
you.” 

Roderick had been hoping that he might walk up to 
Rosemount with her, but felt he was dismissed. He 
wanted, too, to ask her if she would not come out on 
the lake again, but his shyness kept him silent. 

As he helped her out, the yellow light of the wharf 
lamp fell upon her light dress and shone on the gold 
of her hair, and at the same moment a canoe slid 
silently out of the dimness beyond and glided across 
the track of the moon. In the stern knelt one of 
Algonquin’s young men wielding a lazy paddle, and 
in the low seat opposite, with a filmy scarf about her 
dark hair, reclined Miss Leslie Graham. She sat up 
straight very suddenly, and stared at the girl who 
was stepping from the canoe. But she did not speak, 
and Roderick was too absorbed to notice who had 
passed. And the young man with the lazy paddle 
wondered all the way home what had happened to 


170 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


make the lively young lady so silent and absent- 
minded. 

Helen Murray thought many times of what Rod- 
erick had told her about his father’s interest in Wil- 
low Lane. She could not help wondering if others 
could find there the peace that shone in the old man’s 
eyes. She was wondering if she should go down and 
visit the place, when, one day. Willow Lane came to 
her. It was a warm languorous October day, a day 
when all nature seemed at a standstill. Her work 
was done, she was resting under her soft coverlet of 
blue gossamer, preparing for her long sleep. Helen 
had had a hard day, for she had not yet learned her 
new strange task. The room was noisy, fifty little 
heads were bent over fifty different schemes for mis- 
chief, and fifty sibilant whispers delivered forbidden 
messages. The teacher was writing on the board, 
and turned suddenly at the sound of a heavy foot- 
step in the hall. The door was open, letting in the 
breeze from the lake, and in it stood a big hairy man 
with a bushy black head and wild blue eyes. Helen 
stood and stared at him half-frightened. 

The fifty small heads suddenly whirled about and a 
hundred eyes stared at the visitor, but there was no 
fear in them. A giggling whisper ran like fire over 
the room. ‘‘ It’s Peter Fiddle ! ” The man shook 
his fist at them, and the teacher went with some ap- 
prehension towards the door. 

“ Can I do anything for you, sir.^^ ” she enquired, 


‘‘FLOATED THE GLEAM” 171 

outwardly calm, but inwardly quaking. He took off 
his big straw hat and made her a profound bow. 

“ I’ll be Peter McDuff,” he said with a stately air, 
“ an’ I’ll loss a pig.” 

“ I — I don’t think it’s here,” faltered Helen, dis- 
mayed at a visit from the notorious McDufF. “ You 
might ask some other place,” she suggested hope- 
fully. 

“ I’ll be wantin’ the bairns to be lookin’ for it,” he 
said, making another bow. He turned to the chil- 
dren, now sitting, for the first time since their teacher 
had set eyes on them, absolutely still and attentive. 

“ If you see a pig wis a curly tail,” he announced, 
“ that’s me ! ” 

The whole school burst into a shout of laughter, 
and the man’s face flamed with anger. He shook his 
fist at them again, moving a step into the room. 
“ Ye impident young upstarts ! ” he shouted. “ I’ll 
be Peter McDuff ! ” he cried proudly. “ And I’ll 
be having you know they will not be laughing at the 
McDuff whatefer ! ” 

I — I’m sure they didn’t mean to be rude, Mr. 
McDuff,” ventured the frightened teacher. 

“ My name’ll be Peter McDuff,” he insisted, com- 
ing further into the room while she stepped back in 
terror. “ I’ll be sixty years of old, and I’ll neffer 
be casting a tory vote! An’ if you’ll be gifing me a 
man my own beeg and my own heavy — ” he bran- 
dished his fists fiercely. 


m THE END or THE RAINBOW 


“ Peter ! ” 

The McDufF turned. Behind him stood Angus 
McRae, his gentle face distressed. He laid his hand 
on Peter’s shoulder with an air of quiet power. 
‘‘ Come away home with me, Peter man,” he said 
soothingly. “ We’ll be finding the pig on the road.” 

Peter stumbled out grumbling, and Angus McRae, 
pausing a moment to deliver an apology to Helen, 
followed. Mrs. Doasyouwouldbedoneby came along 
the hall rocking with laughter. 

‘‘ You poor child! ” she cried. I heard him, and 
was coming to the rescue when I saw old Angus. I 
knew you’d be scared. But Peter wouldn’t hurt a 
hair of a woman’s head.” 

‘‘ That Mr. McRae seemed to have some strange 
power over him,” whispered Helen, watching, with 
some apprehension, the two climb into an old wagon. 

“ So he has. And he’s the only one that has. He 
keeps Peter in order when he’s drunk and keeps him 
sober, when he can. Ah, dear me 1 dear me ! There’s 
a clever man all gone wrong. Angus McRae’s been 
working with him for years. He lives out there past 
what they call Willow Lane. Ever been down 
there? ” 

“ No, but I’ve heard of it often.” 

‘‘ It’s that bit of street that runs from the end of 
the town where that old hotel is. I’m going down 
there after school to see about Minnie Perkins. 
Come along for a walk. Now, you children, go right 
back there, do you hear me?” For the primary 


‘‘FLOATED THE GLEAM” 


173 


grade had overflowed and was flooding the halls. 
And Madame swept them back and slammed her 
door. 

When school was disipissed and the last noisy 
youngster had gone storming forth Helen went down 
the hall to her friend’s room. Madame came swaying 
out carrying a bunch of gay spiked gladiolus, her 
draperies floating about her with cherubs peeping 
from their folds, like a saint in an old picture. 

She dismissed her satellites firmly at the first cor- 
ner, except those who lived beyond or on Willow 
Lane, a ceremony that necessitated a great deal of 
shooing and scolding. 

The first eye-sore on Willow Lane was the old 
hotel, still standing there, forlorn and ugly, as 
though ashamed of all the evil it had wrought. 

As the years passed there was always a new gen- 
eration of loungers to sit and smoke and spit on its 
sagging veranda. From it ran the old high board 
fence plastered with ugly advertisements of soap or 
circus or patent medicine. It disfigured the whole 
street and shut off a possible glimpse of the lake. 
Away on the other side of it was a meadow where in 
spring-time the larks soared and sang, and beyond 
it the lake and the woods where the mocking bird and 
the bee made music. But here in Willow Lane was 
neither sound nor sight that was pleasant. 

The street consisted of a single sorry-looking row 
of houses with narrow box-like yards shoved up close 
to the road, as though there were not acres and acres 


m THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


of open free meadow land behind them. The hills 
upon which Algonquin was situated ceased abruptly 
here, and the land spread away in a flat plain along 
the lake shore. The ground was low and damp, and 
every house in Willow Lane that had the misfortune 
to possess a cellar was the abode of disease. A deep 
ditch ran parallel to the rickety board side-walk. 
There had just been a week of unceasing rain and it 
was full of green water. 

“ Oh dear ! ” said Helen, in distress. ‘‘ I had no 
idea there was such a place as this in Algonquin.” 

People have lived here for years and still seem to 
have no idea,” said Madame. She paused and looked 
back. Do you see that house ’way up on the hill 
yonder. The one with the tower sticking up be- 
tween the trees? That’s Alexander Graham’s man- 
sion. And he makes a good deal of his money out of 
the rents of these houses, and nobody seems to care 
very much. The people of the churches send down 
turkeys and plum puddings, and everything good at 
Christmas time, and seem to think that will do for 
another year. But the only man who tries to do 
anything all the time is Angus McRae. I suppose 
you know that Lawyer Ed calls him the Good Samar- 
itan, and this the Jericho Road.” 

The first house in the dreary row was the turbulent 
home of Mr. Cassidy, the gentleman who commanded 
so much of Lawyer Ed’s attention. Mrs. Cassidy 
was on the front veranda washing. It was a pastime 
she seldom indulged in, for there was never much 


“FLOATED THE GLEAM” 


175 


water in the old leaky rain barrel at the corner of 
the house. For while Willow Lane had water, water 
everywhere, the inhabitants had not any drop in which 
to wash themselves. But the overflowing rain-barrels 
had tempted Judy to-day, and so her little figure was 
bobbing up and down over the washboard like a play 
Judy in a show. She was scrubbing her own clothes, 
but not her husband’s, for Mr. Cassidy and his wife 
lived each an entirely independent life. They occu- 
pied different sections of the house even, and the lady 
saw to it that her husband’s apartments were the 
coldest in winter and the hottest in summer. This 
arrangement had been held to, ever since the day that 
Mike thrashed Judy. It had not been without some 
provocation, it is true; for though very small, Mrs. 
Cassidy had a valiant spirit, and had many and varied 
ways of exasperating her husband’s inflammable 
temper. But Lawyer Ed had appealed to Father 
Tracy, and that muscular shepherd of his flock had 
come down upon Willow Lane and thrashed Mike 
thoroughly and soundly. Since then there had been 
a sort of armed neutrality in the home of the Cas- 
sidys. 

“ Good day, Mrs. Cassidy,” called Madame over 
the little fence. “ It’s a beautiful day after the 
rain.” 

“ Aw, well now and is that you, Mrs. Adam? ” en- 
quired Judy, her little face peering out of the clouds 
of steam. “ Sure it’s yerself would be bringin’ beau- 
tiful weather, aven if it was poorin’.” 


176 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


Her voice was soft, her manner ingratiating, there 
was no sign of the warrior spirit beneath. 

“ I hope the rain’ll keep off till you get your clothes 
dry,” said Madame pleasantly, but passing resolutely 
on, for Mrs. Cassidy showed signs of a desire to come 
to the gate and have a friendly chat. “ We must get 
out of her way. If she starts to talk we’ll never 
escape,” she whispered. “ Just look at that will 
you ! ” 

The second place was one where some pitiful at- 
tempts at beautifying had been made. The yard was 
swept clean and a little drain had been dug at the side 
to let the water run off. A few drowned flowers 
leaned over on their hard clay beds, and there was a 
neat curtain and a mosquito netting on each window. 
But right against the window that overlooked the 
Cassidys’ yard, Mrs. Cassidy had piled all the old 
boards, boxes and rubbish she could find, to obstruct 
the view to the town, of her too ambitious neighbour. 
“ Now, what do you think of that.? ” cried Madame. 
“ Isn’t she the malicious little soul .? ” 

“ Good day, Mrs. Kent, and how are you to-day ? ” 

“ Good day, Mrs. Adam,” from a sharp-faced neat 
woman, sitting at the doorway of the barricaded 
house, knitting rapidly. 

“ It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it.? ” said Madame in- 
gratiatingly. 

“ Lovely,” responded the woman. It’s a great 
thing we had so much rain, we need a lot down here, 
we’re that dry.” 


‘‘FLOATED THE GLEAM” 177 

Madame chose to take the sarcasm as a joke, and 
laughed blithely. 

But the woman did not smile. “ She’s had to work 
too hard, poor soul,” whispered the visitor when they 
had passed. She’s clean and thrifty but she has to 
wash to support a crippled boy and a consumptive 
girl. No wonder she’s sour.” 

They passed two or three more sorry-looking 
houses and finally paused before the gate of the home» 
of Madame’s little pupil. The bare grassless yard 
was filled with old boxes and rubbish. A big lumber- 
ing lad of about fourteen sprawled over the doorstep 
playing with a string. He looked up with vacant 
eyes, and clutched at the visitors’ skirts, muttering 
and jabbering in idiot glee. 

Madame put her hand tenderly on his small, ill- 
shaped head. 

“ Poor Eddie,” she whispered, ‘‘ poor boy.” 

She fumbled in her big black satchel and brought 
out a gay candy stick. He grabbed it with strange 
cries of joy. The sounds brought a ragged little 
ghost of a woman to the door, carrying a tiny bundle 
on her arm. 

“Well, well, is that you, Madame.?” she cried, 
smiling a broad toothless smile. “ I thought it was 
you, an’ Minnie she says, I believe that’s my teacher, 
Ma.” 

Madame climbed the steep steps, Helen following. 
The room was dirty and untidy. A rusty stove and 
table, three chairs and an ill-smelling cupboard in 


178 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


the corner, with some gaudy glass dishes upon it, 
were the only furniture. 

‘‘ And how are you, Mrs. Perkins ? This is the 
new teacher. Miss Murray. When Minnie passes out 
of my room, she’ll be under this lady’s care. And 
how is my little girl this afternoon ” 

Madame passed to the door of the tiny bedroom. 
The bed filled the whole space with just room enough 
to stand left between it and the wall. A little girl 
was lying on it, her hollow cheeks pink, her eyes 
bright. The sun poured in at the bare window and 
the room was hot and breathless. The swarming 
flies covered her face and arms. She brushed them 
away fretfully, and stretched out her hot hands for 
the flowers. Oh, teacher,” she cried, trying to 
strangle her cough, ‘‘ I watched and I watched for 
you all day and I was scared you wasn’t cornin’.” 

Mrs. Doasyouwouldbedoneby sat down on the edge 
of the dirty bed and put her cool hand on the little 
girl’s burning forehead. 

Helen placed herself rather gingerly on a proffered 
chair, and looked at the wee bundle in the woman’s 
arms. 

“ Why, it’s a baby,” she whispered in awe. The 
mother’s faded face lit up with pride. She held the 
little scrap of humanity towards the visitor. ‘‘ ’E’s 
a grite little rascal, ’e is,” she exclaimed fondly. As 
smart as a weasel, an’ ’im only a fo’tnight old last 
Sunday.” 

Helen was positively afraid to touch the little 


“FLOATED THE GLEAM” 


179 


bundle, but the look of utter exhaustion on the 
woman’s face overcame her repugnance. She held 
out her arms and the mother dropped the baby into 
them and sank upon a chair with a sigh of relief. 

Only a little over two weeks,” gasped Helen, 
looking at the wee wrinkled face peeping from the 
bundle. 

The mother’s face beamed with joy and pride. 
She thought that the visitor’s astonishment was for 
the wonderful baby, all unconscious of herself. 

“ Yes’m, just but a fo’tnight, and a little over. 
Oh ’e’s a grite little tyke, ’e is. Ain’t ’e, now.? ” 

“Has Doctor Blair been to see Minnie.?” asked 
Madame softly. 

“ Yes’m. Old Angus ’e was ’ere on Monday, and 
’e sent ’im. ’E says it’s ’er lungs.” She looked at 
her visitors with child-like simplicity. “ Is it very 
bad for Minnie to ’ave anything wrong with ’er lungs 
do you think, Mrs. Adam.? ” 

Madame’s gentle face was eloquent with pity. 
“ Doctor Blair is a good, kind doctor,” she said 
evasively. “ He’ll do his best for her. You do 
everything for her that he asks.” 

“ Yes’m. Old Angus ’e was trying to tell me wot 
to do, but I ain’t much of a ’and at sickness. Minnie 
she gets up and gets wot she wants but I tell ’er she 
ought to lie abed.” 

The little girl had fallen into a doze, under the 
soothing touch of her teacher’s hand. Madame took 
off the veil from her hat and spread it over the child’s 


180 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


face as a protection from the flies. She came back 
into the kitchen. The idiot boy came in and rolled 
about the floor muttering and whining. 

“ And how’s Mr, Perkins ? ” asked Madame. “ Is 
he keeping well? ” It was her gentle way of asking 
if he was keeping sober. The woman’s tired face 
lit up. 

“ Yes, ma’am, ’E is that. ’E’s been keepin’ 
fine since three weeks come Sunday. That was the 
night Old Angus took ’im to the Harmy an’ got ’im 
saved. An’ ’e’s ben keepin’ nicely saved ever since. 
We’ve been ’avin’ butter,” she added proudly. Ever 
since ’e got ’imself converted. But we ’ad to ’ave 
the doctor for pore Minnie.” Her thin little face 
quivered. If Minnie’d only get better now, we’d be 
gettin’ a good start, an’ we’d all be ’appy.” 

“Mr. Perkins has work now, hasn’t he?” said 
Madame comfortingly. 

“ Yes’m. It’s not steady, but Old Angus ’e’s goin’ 
to get ’im another job. It’s ben rather ’ard on my 
man,” she added apologetically, “ just a cornin’ out 
from the hold country. It’s ’ard gettin’ work at 
first. An’ I wan’t much use with ’im a cornin’,” she 
added, touching the bundle reverently. 

“ So this is the only Canadian baby you have,” said 
Madame. 

“ Yes’m.” The mother forgot her troubles and 
smiled and fawned on the bundle in delight. 

“He’s Johny Canuck, isn’t he?” asked Madame, 
with a feeble attempt at gaiety. 


“FLOATED THE GLEAM” 


181 


“ Oh, no, ma’am,” cried the mother hastily. “ ’E’s 
William ’Enery, after ’is paw. We ain’t got ’im 
christened yet. But jist as soon’s I can get ’im 
a dress the pawson, — ’e’s a foine man, — ’e says ’e’ll 
come an’ do ’im, an’ if my man jist keeps nicely 
saved, we’ll be gettin’ a dress. But it’s been ’ard on 
my man. Eddie there ’e’s not much ’elp, poor lad. 
But ’e goes out on the railroad track an’ picks me up 
a bit o’ coal. An^ Old Angus ’e’s been that good. 
Oh, we’d never a’ got on without Old Angus. But if 
my Minnie ’adn’t took sick — ” 

She wiped a tear on the baby’s dirty dress. It was 
the quiet, dispassionate tear of a woman long accus- 
tomed to hardship. “ I’ll be all right when I get a 
bit stronger an’ can work,” she added hopefully. 

The visitors rose to go. Madame held the 
woman’s hand a long time, trying to explain, as 
though to a little child, how the sick girl must be 
treated. The case seemed so pitiful she was at a 
loss what to say. “ I’m afraid I can’t get back for 
a few days, Mrs. Perkins,” she said. 

I’ll come and see Minnie to-morrow,” said Helen 
Murray suddenly. The morrow was her precious 
Saturday that brought a rest from the week’s hard 
work, but the words seemed forced from her. The 
look of childish fear in the woman’s face made some 
sort of promise necessary for her own peace of mind. 

The woman looked up at her gratefully as she took 
the baby. 

“ It’s awful good o’ you. Miss,” she cried, “ and 


182 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


indeed I’ll be tbet grateful, if you’d just come and tell 
me the best thing to do for Minnie. I’m not much 
of a ’and in sickness.” She looked at the two visit- 
ors wistfully. ‘‘ It does a body good jist to ’ave a 
word with somebody that’s sorry for you,” she added. 

Helen went away, her heart sore and sick with the 
woman’s pain. 

The idiot boy followed them to the gate, grinning 
and muttering. His mother called him from the 
doorway, and he shambled towards her. Glancing 
back, Helen saw his long, ungainly body folded in her 
little thin arms, while she patted him tenderly on the 
back. 

As they stepped out on the rickety side-walk, a 
tall girl of about sixteen came and stood staring at 
them from the doorway of the next house. She had 
a bold, handsome face and her hair and untidy dress 
were arranged in an extravagant imitation of the lat- 
est fashion. 

‘‘ Good day, Gladys,” said Madame kindly, but the 
girl answered with only a curt nod. When the vis- 
itors had passed, she called shrilly tO' some one in the 
house behind her. 

‘‘ Maw ! Hurry out an’ see the parade ! Willow 
Lane’s gettin’ awful high-toned ! ” There was a loud 
cackle of laughter and Madame’s shoulders shook 
with suppressed merriment. “ That’s Gladys 
Hurd,” she said, shaking her head. ‘‘ Poor Gladys, 
I’m afraid she’s not a very good girl. She’s not got 
a very good mother.” 


‘‘FLOATED THE GLEAM” 


183 


As they were turning off Willow Lane, the rattle 
of a buggy behind them made Madame turn. 

“ There he is again,” she cried. “ I suppose he’s 
taken Peter home and found his pig for him. I don’t 
believe I could bear the thought of all the misery on 
Willow Lane if I didn’t know that Old Angus McRae 
was doing so much to lighten it.” 

Helen turned. Angus had pulled up in front of 
the Perkins’ house and the idiot lad with queer cries 
of delight came stumbling out to meet him. The girl 
named Gladys ran out too, and the old man handed 
her a sheaf of glowing crimson dahlias. She buried 
her face in them and hugged them to her in a passion 
of admiration for their beauty. 

“Look, look at Mrs. Cassidy will you?” cried 
Madame in delight. 

Mrs. Cassidy had come to the door at the first 
sound of the wheels, and when she saw who was near, 
she darted out and swiftly and stealthily removed the 
obstruction from her neighbour’s window. Then she 
went to the gate to greet Old Angus, suave and gentle 
of speech, and as innocent looking as the meek heap 
of boards now lying in a corner of her yard. 

“ Well, well, well,” laughed Madame as they walked 
on. “ Even if Old Angus would merely drive up and 
down Willow Lane I believe he would make the people 
better.” 

When Helen reached Rosemount she slipped in at 
the side door and up the back stair. It was the day 
the Misses Armstrong entertained the whist club, and 


184 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


a clatter of teacups and a hum of voices told her the 
guests were not jet gone. She removed her hat, and 
smoothed her hair absently ; her thoughts were down 
on Willow Lane busy with the complex problem of 
the Perkins family. The windows were opened, and 
the sound of swishing skirts and laughing voices came 
up to her from the garden walk. A couple of well- 
dressed women were going out at the gate. 

“ Poor old things,” cried one in a light merry 
voice. “ They do get up the most comical concoc- 
tions at their teas. And Miss Annabel in a ten-year- 
old dress 1 Will she ever grow up ? ” 

“ The poor dears can’t afford anything better. 
They are just struggling along,” answered her com- 
panion. They had that house left them, and the 
old lady gets her allowance, but the daughters hadn’t 
a cent left them, and they would both fall dead if 
they weren’t invited to everything. But I don’t know 
where they get money to dress at all.” 

“ I suppose that is why they took that girl to 
board.” 

“ Of course, poor old Elinor is so scared^ — The 
voice died away and a sharp rap on her door took 
Helen from the window. She opened the door and 
there, to her surprise, stood Miss Leslie Graham, 
looking very handsome in the splendour of her rose 
silk gown. She smiled radiantly. Good day. Miss 
Murray. I think you know who I am and I think 
it’s time we met. I ran up here to get away from 
that jam of people. Those women take such an ever- 


‘‘FLOATED THE GLEAM” 185 


lasting age to get away. May I sit with you for a 
minute ?' ” 

Helen offered her a chair gladly. She had often 
seen Miss Graham, and her unfailing gay spirits had 
made her wish she could know her. The visitor flung 
her silver purse upon the bed, her gloves upon the. 
table, her white parasol upon the bureau, and sank 
into the chair. 

“ Oh I’m dead,” she groaned. “ I’ve passed ten 
thousand cups of tea, and twenty thousand sand- 
wiches. Don’t you pity and despise people that don’t 
know any better than to come to a thing indoors on 
a hot day? ” 

Helen smiled. “ But you came,” she said. 

“ But I had to. When any of my relations give a 
tea I am always tethered to a tray and a plate of 
biscuits.” She stopped suddenly and looked at Helen 
keenly, with a stare that puzzled the girl. Then she 
jumped up and seated herself upon the bed, rumpling 
the counterpane. In the few minutes since she had 
entered the room she had made the place look as if a 
whirlwind had swept through it, and Helen felt a 
nervous fear of Miss Armstrong’s walking in and 
witnessing her untidy condition. 

“ Do you like it here? ” she enquired directly. 

“Yes, I — think I do. Algonquin is so beautiful, 
but — ” 

“ But you can’t stand my poky aunts, and Grand- 
ma’s jokes, eh? ” 

“ Oh, no,” cried Helen aghast. “ Both the Misses 


186 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


Armstrong have been very kind and Mrs. Armstrong 
is delightful — but, of course, I get homesick.’^ She 
stopped suddenly for that was a subject upon which 
she dared not dwell. 

The other girl stared. My goodness. I would 
love to know what homesickness is like, just for once. 
I’ve never been away from home except for a visit 
somewhere in the holidays, and then I was always hav- 
ing such a ripping time, that the thought of going 
home made me sick.” 

She sat for a little while, again looking steadily at 
Helen. “ You certainly are pretty,” she exclaimed. 
“ There’s no doubt about that.” 

“ I beg your pardon ! ” said Helen amazed, and 
doubting if she had heard aright. 

‘‘ Oh, nothing, never mind 1 ” cried the other with 
a laugh. She tore off her costly hat and flung it on 
top of the table. Then she threw herself backwards 
on the bed staring at the ceiling. She made such a 
complete wreck of the starched pillow covers and the 
prim white bedspread that were the pride of Miss 
Armstrong’s heart, that Helen shuddered. 

“ Well, I don’t wonder at you getting homesick 
here. These ceilings are such a vast distance away 
they make you feel as if you were a hundred miles 
from everywhere. I remember sleeping in this room 
once, when there was an epidemic of scarlet fever or 
something among the Armstrong kids. All the well 
ones were dumped on our aunts, after the custom of 
the family, and I was sent off with a dozen others and 


'^FLOATED THE GLEAM” 


187 


we were marooned upstairs, like a gang of prisoners, 
the girls in this room and the boys in Grandma’s. 
Six in a bed — more or less. I remember we used to 
lie awake in the early morning before Aunt Elinor 
would let us get up, and study the outburst of robins 
and grapes on the ceiling. And one day we got the 
boys in with their toy guns and tried to shoot the 
tails off the birds. Cousin Harry Armstrong hit one. 
Do you see the ghastly remains of that bird without 
the tail.f^ That was the one. I never hit anything, 
but I tried hard enough. I am responsible for the 
bangs on the ceiling. Each one tells when I missed 
my aim.” 

Helen laughed all unawares. She was surprised 
at herself. It was so long since she had laughed she 
thought she had forgotten how. 

“ That robin proved to be the Albatross for us,” 
continued Leslie Graham, sitting up again, “ for Aunt 
Elinor found out about it, and we had no more good 
luck from that day till we went home.” She sprang 
up. 

Dear me! here I am jabbering away, and Mother 
must be gone.” She caught up her hat, dislodging 
a couple of books that went over on the floor. “ Oh, 
dear, I’ve knocked something over.” She did not 
make any motion to pick them up, however. “ Mother 
says I always leave a trail behind me.” 

She stood before the glass arranging her hat, 
a radiant figure. Helen looked at her wistfully. 
There was nothing this girl wanted, surely, that she 


188 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


could not have; and yet she seemed so restless and 
dissatisfied. 

“ Do you go out much? ” she asked. 

“ Not very much,” said Helen. “ My school keeps 
me busy.” She did not say that she knew so very 
few young people she had no one to go with. 

Miss Graham turned to the mirror again. She 
seemed embarrassed. ‘‘ The lake’s lovely here for 
paddling. Only the season is nearly over. Have 
you been out on the water much? ” She did not look 
at the girl as she asked the question. 

No,” said Helen, and the other faced round and 
stared at her. ‘‘ I don’t know how to paddle and I 
am rather afraid of a canoe.” 

“ Do you mean to say you’ve never been on the 
lake since you came here? ” asked Leslie Graham, 
standing and staring with a hat-pin in her mouth. 

“ Oh, yes, I was — once,” said Helen innocently. 
She did not think It necessary to tell all about Rod- 
erick’s rescue of her from the point ; for already she 
had heard the Misses Armstrong coupling his name 
with their niece’s in tones of high disapproval. “ I 
was once — ^but only once.” 

Leslie Graham’s face grew radiant. 

“ Is that all? ” she cried in a tone expressing de- 
cided relief. 

She amazed Helen by suddenly darting towards 
her and putting her arm around her. “ Why you 
poor little lonesome thing,” she cried, ‘‘ you must 
learn to paddle ; I will teach you myself. Now, good- 


‘‘FLOATED THE GLEAM” 


189 


bye, I think we are going to be real good friends.” 
She kissed Helen warmly and tripped out, singing a 
gay song, and leaving her late hostess standing 
amazed in the middle of her dishevelled room. 


CHAPTER IX 


“ DEAF TO THE MELODY ” 

A utumn painted Algonquin in new and 
splendid tints. She coloured the maples 
that lined the streets a dazzling gold, with 
here and there at the corners, a scarlet tree for 
variety or one of rose pink or even deep purple. 
And when the leaves began to fall the whole world 
was a bewildering flutter of rainbows. The Novem- 
ber rains came and washed the gorgeous picture away, 
and the artist went all over it again in soberer tints, 
soft greys and tender blues with a hint of coming 
frost in the deep tones of the sky. 

October was almost over before the busy, bustling 
Lawyer Ed had a chance to think of the promise he 
had made in the summer to Old Angus, and he called 
J. P. Thornton and Archie Blair and Roderick to- 
gether into his office one bright morning to enquire 
what could be done about getting a local option by- 
law for Algonquin submitted on the next municipal 
election day. 

The general consensus of opinion was that they 
were too late for the coming election on New Year’s ; 
but that they must start an educational campaign 
190 


'‘DEAF TO THE MELODY’’ 


191 


immediately to stir up public opinion on the subject 
of temperance. And they would get their petition 
ready for the spring and march to victory a year 
from the coming January. 

J, P. Thornton, who was the most energetic man 
on the town council, was busy getting a drain dug 
through Willow Lane to carry off the disease breed- 
ing stagnant waters that lay about the little houses. 
And he declared in a fine oratorical outburst, that if 
they started this temperance campaign early, and 
dug deep enough, by a year from the next election 
day, they would have such a trench projected through 
Algonquin as would carry away in a flood all the foul, 
death-breeding liquid that inundated their beautiful 
town, and pour it into the swamps of oblivion. 

Lawyer Ed gave a cheer when he was through, and 
Archie Blair quoted Burns : 

“ Now, Robinson, harrangue na mair. 

But steeh your gab forever. 

Or try the wicked town of Ayr, 

For there they’ll think you clever,” 

For though, as a citizen, the doctor was convinced 
thal a prohibitory liquor law would be a good thing 
for Algonquin, personally he was not inclined to look 
upon the beverage as foul death-breeding liquid. 

Roderick McRae sat silently listening to the older 
man. He was wondering what Alexander Graham 
would say, when he found his lawyer arrayed on the 
side of the temperance forces. For he knew that his 


192 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


wealthy client had heavy investments in breweries, 
and also owned secretly, the bigger share of Algon- 
quin’s leading hotel and bar-room. 

He was not long left in doubt. The ladies of the 
Presbyterian church gave a turkey and pumpkin pie 
supper on Thanksgiving eve, with a concert in the 
Sunday-school room after, all for the sum of twenty- 
five cents, the proceeds to go to a new red carpet and 
cushions for the choir gallery. Lawyer Ed was 
chairman at the concert, of course, and J. P. Thorn- 
ton was the chief speaker. And though his address 
was on Imperialism, a subject through which he had 
grown quite famous, he branched off into temper- 
ance and publicly announced that the local option 
by-law would be submitted before long in Algonquin, 
and they had better get ready. 

Lawyer Ed, who always made a short speech be- 
tween each item on the programme, burst forth, al- 
most before J. P. had sat down, with the further an- 
nouncement, accompanied by a great deal of oratory, 
that the temperance forces would carry their banner 
to victory and mount over every difficulty even as his 
Highland ancestors had stormed the heights of Alma. 
For when Lawyer Ed got upon the platform, a 
strange transformation always came over him. His 
Hibernianism fell from him like a garment, and he 
was over the heather and away like any true born 
Scot. 

The next day. Miss Leslie Graham, in a new au- 
tumn suit of ruby velvet and a big plumed hat. 


‘‘DEAF TO THE MELODY” 


193 


dropped in at the office of Brians and McRae and, 
after chattering merrily for half-an-hour with Rod- 
erick, said that her father wanted him to come up the 
following evening for dinner. 

Roderick went, with, as usual, the faint hope that 
he might see Helen Murray there. He had not suc- 
ceeded in meeting her, except casually on the street, 
since that magic night when he had paddled her home 
in the moonlight. But he was, as usual, disap- 
pointed. There was only the Graham family pres- 
ent. Miss Leslie was as gay and charming as ever, 
and her mother was slightly less stiff with him. But 
Mr. Graham was exceptionally kind and hospitable. 
Before returning to the drawing-room after dinner, 
he carried Roderick off to the library for a little 
private chat. There were a few matters of business 
to be discussed, and when they were finished, Mr. 
Graham said casually: 

“ I suppose you run the affairs of Brians and 
McRae yourself these days. I hear Ed’s off after 
another will-o’-the-wisp as usual. Let me see, I be- 
lieve it’s a temperance bee he’s got in his bonnet this 
time.’^ 

Roderick was silent. The contemptuous tone net- 
tled him. He would not discuss Lawyer Ed with 
Alexander Graham, no matter what the consequence. 

“ Well, well,” said the host, giving the fire a poke, 
and laughing good-naturedly. “ Those fellows 
must do something to take up their time. But it’s a 
pity to see them wasting it. For that thing won’t 


m THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


go here in Algonquin, Rod. Take my word for it. 
And if it did, it would be a great pity, for such a 
law wouldn’t be kept. Of course, if Ed Brians and 
Archie Blair and J. P. Thornton, and a few other 
fanatics hke that, are bound to meddle with other 
people’s consciences, I suppose we’ll just have to let 
them do it. ‘ If it plazes her, it don’t be hurtin’ me,’ 
as Mike Cassidy said when Judy hammered him with 
the broomstick. I hope they’ll enjoy themselves.” 

Roderick looked up quickly. “ It is not a mere 
pastime with my father. It is a thing of great 
moment to him,” he said. 

“ Oh, well, of course,” said Mr. Graham suavely. 

I can understand that. Your father is a man 
who has devoted his life to drunks and outcasts, and 
he looks on temperance legislation as a refuge for 
them. I have no doubt he is quite sincere in the mat- 
ter.” 

“ I should just say he is,” said Roderick rather 
explosively. 

‘‘ That’s quite true. Rod,” said his patron, a lit- 
tle annoyed. “ But your father, with many another 
good man, is making a great mistake when he be- 
lieves people will be benefited by temperance legis- 
lation. Some folks seem to think that if you get lo- 
cal option in a town the millennium has come.” He 
lit a cigar, and leaned back with an air of finality. 
“ I tell you they’re awfully mistaken. People want 
liquor and they’ll get it as long as they want it, law 
or no law. And they’re going to want it till the end 


“DEAF TO THE MELODY” 


195 


of time. And if those folks insist upon forcing this 
by-law upon Algonquin, they will only succeed in giv- 
ing the town a bad name. It’s simply ruinous to a 
place from a business standpoint.” 

Roderick had no answer to make. He was in- 
clined to believe that Graham was right. He 
wanted to believe it, for the burden of this thing was 
annoying him. He knew that Lawyer Ed would have 
met the statements with fiery contradictions, and J. 
P. Thornton would have answered with clear, con- 
vincing facts. But he had given very little thought 
to the subject, and could not remember any of the 
arguments. And he had certainly heard, many, 
many times that the temperance measure had been a 
failure in other towns. 

He sat silent, his elbows on his knees, his hands 
locked together, looking into the glowing grate and 
wishing he didn’t have to be bothered with it all. 
What had local option to do with his work, any- 
way? 

And then he realised that his host was talking 
again. In the midst of his quiet insinuating re- 
marks, there was a sharp tap on the door, and Les- 
lie swept into the room, very handsome in her soft, 
trailing white dress. 

‘‘ I’m just not going to let you two poke here any 
longer,” she declared, giving her father’s ear a pull. 
“ You’re spoiling all Rod’s evening. Daddy, by talk- 
ing business. His office is for that. Come right 
along into the drawing-room this minute, the Bald- 


196 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


win girls have come, and we’re going to have some 
music.” 

The subject of local option was not referred to 
again that evening, but Roderick realised that, in 
some subtle way, how, he scarcely knew, his client 
had conveyed to him the unmistakable intelligence 
that should he identify himself with the temperance 
forces in any prominent way, the business of Gra- 
ham and Company would have to be placed in other 
hands. 

Roderick scarcely understood what had been said 
until he was walking home in the clear frosty air 
with time to think it over. 

He was miserably uncomfortable the next day 
when he found his chief buried head and ears in 
temperance affairs. 

“ We’ll have to wade into this with high-water 
boots, ma braw J ohn Hielanman ! ” he cried radi- 
antly. “ Be jabers! but I do love a fight, and a fine 
old Donnybrook fair we’re goin’ to have ! ” And 
he relapsed into a rich Irish brogue. 

“ Mr. Graham told me last night he’d like me to 
go north in a few weeks,” said Roderick in a strained 
voice. “ I may have to be gone for a month.” 

“ On that Beaver Landing deal.? Well now, that’s- 
a big thing. Rod ! ” Lawyer Ed was scribbling 
madly at his desk while he talked, and calling up 
some one on the telephone every three minutes. 
“ You’ve got Sandy Graham all right. Hello, Cen- 
tral, are you asleep? I said I wanted J. P. Thorn- 


“DEAF TO THE MELODY” 


197 


ton and I still say it!” — No you didn’t, I tell you! 
Sandy 11 kick over the traces when we get going on 
this campaign, though. Not in.^ Where in thunder 
is he.? Tell him to call me the minute he gets back. 
Yes, that’s a fact. Rod ! ” And he slammed the re^ 
ceiver down and took to scribbling furiously again. 
‘‘ Sandy’ll put on his plug hat and his swallow-tail 
coat and hike like the limited express for Willough- 
by’s oflSce the minute he sees our names heading that 
petition ! ” He shut his eyes, and, leaning back, 
laughed in delighted anticipation of losing their most 
valuable client. 

Roderick felt impatient. To him the affair was 
no laughing matter. To lose Graham’s business was 
unthinkable, to keep out of this troublesome temper- 
ance campaign seemed impossible. One moment he 
felt he must come out right boldly for the cause, the 
next he called himself a fool, for letting such a doubt- 
ful thing stand in the way of his best interests. 

But before the necessity for declaring himself 
came upon him, the temperance campaign suffered a 
severe check. The trouble arose in an unexpected 
quarter, not from the enemy, but in the ranks of the 
advancing army itself. The temperance ship ran 
against the rock that threatened to split it alto- 
gether, on the last Sunday in November. This day 
was celebrated as St. Andrew’s Sunday, the day when 
the society of the Sons of Scotland, with bonnets on 
their heads, plaidies on their shoulders and heather 
in their button-holes, paraded to church in a body 


198 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 

and had a sermon preached to them by a minister 
brought up from the city for the purpose of glorify- 
ing Scotland and edifying her sons. As nearly all 
the Presbyterian congregation of Algonquin was 
Scotch, every one else was as much edified as the Sons 
themselves ; but there was one prominent exception 
and that was J. P. Thornton. 

Mr. Thornton was an Englishman, bom within 
the sound of Bow Bells, and, like a true Briton, in- 
tensely proud of the fact, and though he was as lib- 
eral in his general views as he was in politics, and 
had delivered many a fine speech on Imperialism, 
yet some stubborn latent prejudice arose in his heart 
and threatened to overflow every St. Andrew’s Sun- 
day. 

It was not that he ob j ected so much to the tartan- 
and-heather bedecked rows occupying the front pews 
of the church, on St. Andrew’s Sunday. He was in- 
clined to look upon them with some lofty amusement, 
saying that if they liked that sort of child’s play it 
was no affair of his and they might have it. But it 
was the sermon that always put him into a fighting 
humour. For never a preacher stood up there on 
St. Andrew’s Sunday but made some unfortunate 
reference to Bannockburn and Scots Wha Hae, and 
a great many other things calculated to rouse any 
Englishman’s ire. 

Mr. Thornton had never openly rebelled, however, 
and the St. Andrew’s sermon came each year with 
only a few mild explosions following. But this year 


“DEAF TO THE MELODY” 199 


the celebration caused a serious disturbance, and as 
so often happened, it started with Lawyer Ed. 

That lively Irish gentleman had already joined 
almost every organisation in the town, and there sud- 
denly came to him a great desire to join the Sons of 
Scotland also. His mother was a Scottish lady of 
Highland birth, and he himself had a deep-rooted 
affection for anything or anybody connected with 
the land o’ cakes. So on the eve of this St. Andrew’s 
celebration he joined the order and became a true 
Son of Scotland himself. 

Mr. Thornton had gone away for a couple of 
weeks on a business trip and knew nothing of this 
new departure of his friend. He came home late on 
Saturday night before St. Andrew’s Sunday, and 
went to church the next morning, all unsuspecting 
that at that moment Ed was falling into line down at 
the lodge room, his plaidie the brightest, his bon- 
net the trimmest and his heather sprig the biggest 
of all the procession. 

The Scotchmen had turned out nearly a hundred 
strong this morning, for the minister from the city 
was a great man with a continental reputation. It 
was a beautifully clear, brilliant day, too, one of 
those days that only the much maligned November 
can bring, with dazzling cloudless skies and an ex- 
hilarating tang of frost-nipped leaves in the air. 
So the Scotchmen were all there, even old Angus 
McRae and his son, the young Highlander looking 
very handsome in his regalia. 


200 THE END OE THE RAINBOW 


Jock McPherson and the Captain of the Inverness 
were there too. Captain Jimmie was in his glory, but 
Mr. McPherson looked as if he were preparing to ob- 
ject to everything about him. Each recurring St. 
Andrew’s Sunday found the Elder more and more in- 
clined to think that this Sabbath parade was scarcely 
in keeping with the day. But he was a true Scot 
at heart, and no amount of orthodoxy could keep 
him out of it. He felt this morning, however, that 
matters had gone a bit too far, for the warm day had 
tempted Archie Blair, and he had come out in the 
kilt, his shameless bare-kneed example followed by 
Harry Lauder and three other foolish youths of the 
Highland club. 

A few minutes before the hour for the service, 
when the bells had begun to roll out their invitations 
from the three church towers, the procession started. 
And the Methodists and Baptists and Anglicans 
kept themselves late for church by lingering on the 
side-walk to see it pass. It was worth watching; as 
very stately and solemn and slow it moved along the 
street and up to the church door. 

Mr. McPherson moved rather stiffly, for Archie 
Blair was walking beside Lawyer Ed directly in front 
of him, and the very tilt of his bonnet and the swing 
of his kilt was a profanation of the day. Some- 
how, the doctor did not at all fit in with the Sab- 
bath. He was a big straight man, long of limb, 
broad of shoulder and inclined to a generous ro- 


‘‘DEAF TO THE MELODY” 


SOI 

tundity, and he swaggered so splendidly when he 
walked, and held up his bonneted head with such 
a dashing air, that he gave the distinct impression 
that the bagpipes were skirling out a gay march as 
he swung past. 

The sight of him on this Sabbath morning struck 
dismay to Jock’s orthodox soul, clinging tenaciously 
to its ancient traditions. Lawyer Ed, too, seemed 
to have donned the spirit of irreverence with the 
bonnet, and was conducting himself as no elder of 
the kirk should have behaved even at a St. Andrew’s 
banquet. 

“ Eh, losh Ed, mon,” cried the doctor, loud enough 
for Jock to hear. “ Ah wush we could hae a bit 
strathspey frae the pipes to march wi’ to the kirk, 
foreby.” 

Lawyer Ed’s face became forbidding. 

“ Eh, eh, and that to an elder ? Div ye hear j^on, 
Jock.? It’s the Heilan’s cornin’ oot o’ him!” 

Jock could not resist a sudden temptation. That 
strange twist came over his face, which heralded a 
far-oif joke. He spoke very slowly. 

“ It’s what you micht be expecting from the likes 
o’ him. It’s written down in his history: 

“ The Blairs they are a wiehed race. 

They set theirsels in sad disgrace. 

They made the pipes and drums to play. 
Through Algonquin on the $awhhath day,'^ 


£0^ THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


He had paraphrased a bit to suit the occasion, 
and the doctor laughed so appreciatively that the 
elder began to feel brighter. 

But Jock should have known better than to have 
set an example of rhyming before Archie Blair. He 
turned and looked down at the elder, and the sight 
of him marching peaceably beside Captain Jimmie 
reminded him of an old doggerel ballad : “ But man, 
there’s worse than that written in your own history,” 
he cried: 

“ 0-o-och, Fairshon swore a feud. 

Against ta clan McTavish, 

And marched into their land. 

To murder and to ravish. 

For he did resolve. 

To extirpate ta vipers. 

With four-and-twenty men 
And pve-and-twenty pipers! ” 

Tut, tut. Doctor,” cried Captain Jimmie, try- 
ing to hide a smile beneath his bonnet. “ Be quate 
man, it’s the Sabbath day.” 

“ Well, here’s a verse that’s got a quotation from 
Scripture or at least an allusion to one. That’s to 
be expected in the history of the McPhersons.” 

“ Fairshon had a son 

That married Noah's daughter. 

And nearly spoiled ta flood 
By drinking all ta water. 


‘‘DEAF TO THE MELODY” 


203 


Which he would have done 
I really do believe it 
Had ta mixture peen 
Only half Glerdeviti ” 

Lawyer Ed was shaking with unseemly laughter. 

“ Ye’ll hae to sing it a’ when we eat the haggis the 
morn’s night,” he suggested. 

“ I don’t understand how a reference to anything 
so unholy as the Glenlevit got into the annals of ta 
Fairshons, Jock,” said Doctor Blair. 

Now Jock McPherson was not averse to a drop of 
Glenlevit himself, — for his stomach’s sake, of course, 
for the elder could not be unscriptural even in his 
eating and drinking. Archie Blair was not averse 
to it either, though he frankly admitted that it was 
very bad for his stomach, indeed, and for everybody 
else’s stomach. 

But in the opening temperance campaign the lat- 
ter had come out avowedly on the side of local op- 
tion, and was looked upon as one of the party’s 
strongest speakers, while Jock had not yet declared 
himself. It was a delicate subject with Mr. Mc- 
Pherson, and he could not endure to be twitted 
about it. 

He paused at the church steps and laid his hand 
on the doctor’s velvet sleeve. He cleared his throat, 
always a dangerous sign. 

“ Yes,” he said very slowly, “ it will be a ferry fine 
song indeed, and if Edward would jist be putting 


204 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


his A^e-men on the tail of it to-morrow night, it will 
sound more feenished.” The whole procession was 
waiting to enter the church, but Jock did not hurry. 
‘‘ As for the Glenlevit, the McPhersons were no more 
noted for liking their drop than many another clan 
I might mention. But they were honest about it.” 
He paused again and then said even more deliber- 
ately : And if you would like to be referring to the 

Scriptures again, you might be taking a look at your 
Bible when you get home, you will be finding some 
ferry good advice in Romans the 2nd chapter and 
21st verse.” 

He turned away and marched solemnly into the 
church. The procession followed and it was then 
that J. P. Thornton, standing at his post, and won- 
dering why Ed had not long ago appeared to receive 
the Scotchmen, beheld the amazing spectacle of his 
Irish friend and very brother, marching in their 
front rank, bonnet and plaid and all ! 

J. P. was too dignified to make a demonstration 
of his outraged feelings in church, but Miss Annabel 
Armstrong reported afterwards that when she passed 
him she heard him say something about Edward, that 
sounded like “ You’re too brutish ” — or too bru- 
ty” or something like that, and Miss Armstrong 
said it was exceedingly improper language for an 
elder to use in church. 

J. P. was always in a state of mild irritation when 
he settled himself to hear the annual St. Andrew’s 
sermon, but this morning he was decidedly indignant. 


‘‘DEAF TO THE MELODY’’ 


S05 


By the time the Scotchmen had gone through two 
long psalms, with Lawyer Ed leading, he was hot and 
disgusted, and when the sermon came it was like acid 
poured upon an open wound. 

The famous minister from the city made all the 
mistakes of his St. Andrew’s predecessors and a 
great many more of his own. He lingered long at 
Bannockburn, he recited Scot’s “ Wha Hae ” in full, 
he quoted portions of the death of Wallace and alto- 
gether behaved in a way to leave the usually genial 
English listener with his temper red and raw and 
anxious for a fight. 

Monday evening Lawyer Ed was to have driven 
out to McClintock’s Corners with his friend, to speak 
at a tea meeting, and convince the farmers that Al- 
gonquin would be a much more desirable place as a 
market town with a prohibitory liquor law than it 
was at present. 

But Lawyer Ed went to the St. Andrew’s supper 
instead and ate haggis and listened to the pipes play 
“ The Cock O’ the North,” and Archie Blair recite 
Burns and Jock McPherson make a speech on Scot- 
tish history. 

That was more than J. P. could stand. He tele- 
phoned to Roderick early the next morning telling 
him to inform his chief that he, J. P., would go to no 
more temperance meetings with him. If Lawyer Ed 
wanted help in his campaign let him look for it among 
his brother Scotchmen. And the receiver slammed 
before Roderick could enquire what he meant. 


206 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


There were storms bursting in other quarters too. 
Doctor Blair had spent a good part of the time in 
church on Sunday morning in a laudable search for 
the Epistle to the Romans, and had surprised all his 
brethren by studying the 2nd chapter carefully. 
The result, however, was not what a searching of the 
Scriptures is supposed to produce. For he tele- 
phoned to Roderick the next morning that he could 
tell Ed, when he came in, that he, Archie Blair, 
would be hanged if he would waste any more time on 
local option if that was what people were saying 
about him. And Captain Jimmie dropped in imme- 
diately after to say that if something wasn’t done 
to conciliate Jock McPherson he was afraid he would 
vote against local option altogether. 

So the cause of temperance suffered a check. It 
proved to be not a very serious one, but it served 
Roderick. For it postponed the necessity of his de- 
claring himself on either side, and he hoped that be- 
fore the day arrived when he must join the issue, his 
affairs would be less complicated. 

Diplomacy was one of Lawyer Ed’s strong fea- 
tures, and he had almost completed a reconciliation 
between all the aggrieved parties when Roderick left 
for a business trip to the north. It was an im- 
portant commission involving much money, and cer- 
tain vague statements regarding its outcome made 
by Mr. Graham had fired the Lad’s imagination. 

“ Now, I needn’t warn you to do your best, Rod- 
erick,” said the man when he bade him good-bye. 


‘‘DEAF TO THE MELODY” 207 

“ You’ll do that, anyway. But there’s more than 
money in this. There’s an eye on you — ” 

He would say no more, but Leslie gave him another 
hint. He had found her strolling past the office as 
he ran out to post some letters, the day before his 
departure. He was absolutely without conceit, but 
he could not help noticing that somehow Miss Leslie 
Graham nearly always happened, by the strangest 
coincidence, to be on the street just as he was leav- 
ing the office. 

He walked with her to the post-office and back, 
and then she declared her fingers were frozen and 
she would come into the office for ten minutes to 
warm them. 

“ So you’re going to fix up things with the Brit- 
ish North American Railroad for Daddy, are you.? ” 
she said, holding out her gloved fingers over the glow- 
ing coal-stove. “ That means that you’ll be getting 
your fingers into Uncle Will’s business, too. His 
lawyer is up at Beaver Landing now.” 

“Whose lawyer.?” asked Roderick, giving her a 
chair by the fire and standing before her feeling ex- 
tremely uncomfortable. 

“Uncle Will’s. You know Uncle Will Graham.? 
He’s an American now, but he has all sorts of inter- 
ests in Canada and he’s — well, he’s not exactly Pres- 
ident of the B. N. A., but he’s the whole thing in it. 
Uncle Will’s coming home next summer, and Pm go- 
ing; to make him take me back to New York with 

hil” 


208 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


Roderick’s ambitious heart gave a leap. Of 
course he knew about William Graham, the Algon- 
quin man who had gone to the States and made a 
million or more. 

His head was filled with rosy dreams as he walked 
out to the farm that evening to say good-bye. He 
was leaving for only a short time, but the old people 
were loath to see him go. Aunt Kirsty drew him up 
to the hot stove, bewailing the misfortune that was 
taking him away. 

“ Dear, dear, dear, and you will be going away up 
north into the bush,” she said, clapping him on the 
back, “ and you will jist be frozen with the cold in- 
deed, and your poor arm will be bad again.” 

“ Yes, and the wolves will probably eat me, and 
a tree will fall on me and I’ll break through the ice 
and be drowned,” wailed Roderick. And she shoved 
him away from her for a foolish gomeril, trying not 
to smile at him, and declaring it was little he cared 
that he was leaving her, indeed. 

“ I have not heard you say anything about the 
arm for a long time. Lad,” said his father, who was 
watching him, with shining eyes, from his old rock- 
ing-chair. 

“ Oh, it’s all right. Dad,” he said lightly. “ I 
haven’t time to notice it.” 

He always put off the question thus when Aunt 
Kirsty was within hearing, but his father’s loving 
eye noticed that the boy’s hand sometimes sought 
the arm and held it, as though in pain. 


‘‘DEAF TO THE MELODY’’ 209 


“ And you will not be here to help start the great 
fight,” his father said wistfully, when he had heard 
all the latest news concerning the temperance cam- 
paign, even to the pending disaster. “ But you will 
be finding a Jericho Road up in the bush. I’ll have 
no doubt.” 

Roderick looked at the saintly old face and his 
heart smote him. He felt for a moment that to 
please his father would surely be worth more than 
all the success a man could attain in a lifetime. 

“And did you get a job for poor Billy, Lad.?” 
his father enquired. 

“Billy.? Oh, the Perkins fellow?” Roderick 
whistled in dismay. Poor Billy Perkins had not 
“ kept nicely saved,” as his brave little wife had 
hoped, but had fallen among thieves in the hotel at 
the corner once more. Old Angus had rescued him, 
put him upon his feet again, and had commissioned 
his son to look for work for Billy, and his son had 
forgotten about it entirely in the pressure of his 
work. 

“ Oh, Dad, that’s a shame,” he cried contritely, 
“ I had so much on my mind getting ready to go, I 
forgot. I’ll tell Lawyer Ed about him, and per- 
haps he can look up something. I have to start 
early in the morning or I would yet.” 

“ Well, well,” said his father cheerfully. “ There 
now, there is no need to worry, for they have got him 
a job, but it is away from home and I thought he’d 
do better here. The bit wife is lonely since the wee 


^10 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


girl died. But Billy will jist have to go, and it will 
only be for the winter, anyway.” 

‘‘ What’s he going to do? ” 

‘‘ It will be in the shanties. He is not strong 
enough for the bush, but he will be helping the cook, 
and the wages will be good. I’m hoping he will not 
be able to get near the drink. Indeed it was the lit- 
tle lassie herself that got him the job,” he added, his 
eyes shining. “ She’s the great little lady, indeed.” 

“Who is. Father?” Roderick spoke absently, his 
eyes on the fire, his mind on Mr. William Graham 
and the B. N. A. Railroad. 

“ The young teacher lady. She will be down to see 
poor Mrs. Perkins every day or so since the wee one 
died. And the poor bit Gladys ! Eh, she’s jist mak- 
ing a woman out of her indeed.” 

Roderick’s eyes came away from the fire. He 
was all interest. “ Oh, is she ? Does she visit the 
folks in Willow Lane? What is she doing for 
them? ” 

“ Eh, indeed, what is she not doing? ” cried his 
father. “ It’s jist an angel we’ve got in Willow 
Lane now. Lad. I don’t know how she did it, and 
indeed Father Tracy says he doesn’t know either, 
but she’s got Judy to cook a hot dinner for Mike 
every day, and she’s teaching Gladys at nights, and 
she’s jist saved the poor Perkins bodies from starv- 
ing. She showed the wee woman how to make bread, 
and oh, indeed, I couldn’t be telling you all the good 
she does ! ” 


“DEAF TO THE MELODY’’ 


Sll 

Roderick listened absorbedly. So that was where 
she kept herself in the evenings. And that was why 
he could never meet her any place, no matter how 
many nights he frittered away at parties in the hope 
of seeing her. 

“And how did she get this job for Billy?” he 
asked, just for the sake of hearing his father talk 
about her. 

Old Angus smiled knowingly. 

“ Och, she has a way with her, and she can get 
anything she wants. It would be through Alfred 
Wilbur — the poor lad the boys wiU be calling such 
a foolish name.” 

“ Yes, Afternoon Tea Willie. What’s he after 
now? ” 

“ Indeed I think he will be after Miss Murray,” 
said the old man, his eyes twinkling. “ He seems to 
be always following her about. And he managed to 
get young Fred Hamilton to take Billy up to the 
camp. Fred is going up to his father’s shanties 
with a gang of men in about a week.” 

Roderick’s heart sank. Here was a lost oppor- 
tunity indeed. He had failed to help his father, and 
had missed such a splendid chance to help her. 

“ If you’ve got anybody else who needs a job. 
Dad, I’ll try to do better next time,” he said hum- 
bly. 

“ Oh, indeed, there will always be some one need- 
ing help,” his father said radiantly. “ Eh, eh, it 
will be a fine thing for me to know you are helping to 


212 THE END OE THE RAINBOW 


care for the poor folk on the Jericho Road. Jist 
being neighbour to them. It’s a great business, the 
law, for helping a man to be neighbour.” The old 
man sat and gazed happily into the fire, 

Roderick fidgeted. He was thinking that some of 
the work of a lawyer did not consist so much in res- 
cuing the man who had fallen among thieves as fall- 
ing upon him and stripping him of his raiment. 

“ Law is a complicated business. Dad,” he said, 
with a sigh. 

There were prayers after that, and a tender fare- 
well and benediction from the old people, and Rod- 
erick went away, his heart strangely heavy. He was 
to be absent only a short time, perhaps not over two 
weeks, but he had a feeling that he was bidding his 
father a lifelong farewell — that he was taking a road 
that led away from that path in which the man had 
so carefully guided his young feet. 

It was not entirely by accident that Roderick 
should be walking into Algonquin just as Helen Mur- 
ray was coming out of the Hurd home. He had 
been very wily, for such an innocent young man. 
A shadow on the blind, showing the outline of a trim 
little hat and fluffy hair, had sent him back into the 
shadows of the Pine Road to stand and shiver until 
the shadow left the window and the substance came 
out through the lighted doorway. Gladys came to 
the gate, her arm about her teacher’s waist. They 
were talking softly. Gladys’s voice was not so loud 
nor her look so bold as it once was. She ran back 


'^DEAF TO THE MELODY” 


218 


calling good-night, and the little figure of the teacher 
went on swiftly up the shaky frosty sidewalk, A 
few strides and Roderick was at her side. She was 
right under the electric light at the corner when he 
reached her and she turned swiftly with such a look 
of annoyance that he stopped aghast. 

Oh, I beg your pardon — ” he stammered, but 
was immensely relieved when she interrupted smil- 
ing. 

‘‘ Oh, is it you, Mr. McRae I — didn’t know — 

I thought it was — some one else,” she stammered. 

Roderick looked puzzled, but the next moment he 
understood. Just within the rays of the electric 
light, across the street, was Afternoon Tea Willie, 
waiting faithfully with chattering teeth and be- 
numbed toes. He stood and stared at Roderick as 
they passed, and then slowly followed at a distance, 
the picture of abject desolation. Roderick found it 
almost impossible to keep from laughing, until he be- 
gan to consider his own case. He had plunged head- 
long into her presence, and now he felt he ought to 
apologise. He tried to, but she stopped him charm- 
ingly. 

Oh, indeed, I wanted to see you, before you go 
away,” she said, and Roderick felt immensely flat- 
tered that she knew so much about his affairs as to 
be aware that he was going away. 

“ Yes? What can I do for you? ” he asked shyly. 

“ I wanted to ask about poor Billy Perkins. Mr. 
Wilbur got work for him, you know.” 


^14 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


Indeed, my father tells me it was you did the 
good deed,” declared Roderick warmly. 

“ No, no, I only helped. But I am anxious about 
Billy.” She spoke as though Roderick were as in- 
terested in the Perkins family as his father. Is 
there any one up at Mr. Hamilton’s camp, I wonder, 
who would keep an eye on him. He is all right if 
he’s only watched, so that he can’t get whiskey. 
There’s young Mr. Hamilton, he’s going, isn’t he? ” 

‘‘ Yes.” Roderick felt that if the young man men- 
tioned watched Fred Hamilton and kept him from 
drink it was all that could be expected of him. How- 
ever, he might try. ‘‘ I’ll speak to him,” he said 
cordially, “ and see if he can do anything for Billy. 
I see you’ve taken some of my father’s family under 
your care,” he added admiringly. 

“ Oh no. I’m just helping a little. I’m afraid 
I’m not prompted by such unselfish motives as your 
father is. I visit down here just for something to 
do and to keep from being lonely.” 

It was the first time she had made any reference 
to herself. Roderick seized the opportunity. 

“ You don’t go out among the young people 
enough,” he suggested. She did not answer for a 
moment. She could not tell him that she was very 
seldom invited in the circles where he moved. She 
had been doomed to disappointment in Miss Gra- 
ham’s friendship, for after her first generous out- 
burst the young lady seemed to have forgotten all 
about her. 


/‘DEAF TO THE MELODY’’ ^15 

“ I like to come here,” she said at last. “ I think 
it’s more worth while. But don’t talk any more about 
my affairs. Tell me something about yours. Are 
you going to be long in the woods? ” 

It was a delightful walk all the way up to Rose- 
mount, for Roderick managed to get up courage to 
ask if he might go all the way, and even kept her at 
the gate a few minutes before he said good-bye, and 
he promised, quite of his own accord, to visit Camp 
Hamilton if it was not far from Beaver Landing, his 
headquarters, and when he returned he would report 
to her Billy’s progress. 


CHAPTER X 


THE LIGHT RETREATED 

A bout two weeks after Billy Perkins had 
gone north, Helen Murray went down to 
Willow Lane from school to see his family. 
She had been there only the evening before, and had 
found them doing well. The faded little mother had 
never been quite so courageous since Minnie’s death, 
but Bill’s new start had put them beyond the imme- 
diate possibility of want and given fresh hope. 
There had been two very cheery letters from him 
which Helen had read aloud, so the little wife was 
trying to be happy in her loneliness, and was looking 
forward hopefully to Billy’s return in the spring. 

But January had set in bitterly cold and there 
had been a heavy snow fall during the morning. 
Helen feared that Eddie might not have been able 
to get the wood in, so as soon as Madame and her 
flock had departed, she turned down towards Willow 
Lane. She had been in Algonquin only a little over 
three months but already the self-forgetting tasks 
she had set herself, were beginning to work their 
cure. She had not regained her old joyousness, and 
often she was still very sad and lonely ; but there had 


‘‘THE LIGHT RETREATED” 




come a calm light into her deep eyes, and an expres- 
sion of sweet courage and strength to her ‘face, that 
had not been there in the old careless happy days. 
She was growing very fast, these busy days, though 
she was quite unconscious of it in her complete ab- 
sorption in other people’s troubles. 

She had left the Perkins family in such comfort- 
able circumstances, the day before, that she was 
startled and dismayed to find everything in con- 
fusion. The neighbours were running in and out 
of the open door, the fire was out, the baby was cry- 
ing, and the little mother lay on the bed prostrated. 

“ What is it ? ” cried Helen, stopping in the open 
doorway in dismay. “ Oh, what’s the matter? ” 
Mrs. Hurd and Judy Cassidy were moving help- 
lessly about the room. At the sight of their friend 
the latter cried out, “ Now praise the saints, here’s 
the dear young lady. Come in. Miss Murray ! Och, 
wurra, wurra, it’s a black day for this house, in- 
dade!” 

Gladys was sitting on the old lounge beside the 
stove awkwardly holding the baby. 

“ Oh, Miss Murray,” she cried shrilly. “ Some- 
thin’ awful’s happened! Billy Perkins’s gone to jail. 
He got drunk and he’s been steal — ” 

Her mother shook the broom at her, “ Hold your 
tongue,” she said sharply. For Mrs. Perkins, her 
face grey with suffering, had arisen on the bed. 
“ Oh, Teacher, is that you I ” she cried, bursting into 
fresh tears. Helen went and sat on the edge of the 


218 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


bed, and took her hand. ‘‘What is it?” she whis- 
pered. “ Perhaps it’s not so had ! ” she faltered, 
making a vague attempt to comfort. 

But when the pitiful story came out it was bad 
enough. Mrs. Perkins told it between sobs, aided 
by interpolations from her neighbours. Billy had 
been working steadily up till last Saturday, quite 
happy because he could not get at the drink. But 
on Saturday he went into the village to buy some 
fresh meat from a farmer for the camp. And there 
was a Jericho Road up north too, it seemed, where 
thieves lay in wait for the unwary. And Billy fell 
among them. He went into the tavern just for a 
few minutes, leaving the meat on the sleigh outside, 
and when he came out it was gone. Billy had gone 
on towards the camp despairingly, in dread of losing 
his job, and praying all the way for some inter- 
vention of Providence to avert the result of his mis- 
take. For in spite of many a fall before temptation, 
poor Billy, in a blind groping way, clung to the 
belief that there was a God watching him and caring 
for him. So he went on, praying desperately, and 
about half-way to camp there came an answer. 
Right by the roadside, as if dropped there by a 
miracle, lay a quarter of beef, sticking out of the 
snow. It was evidently a small cache some one had 
placed near the trail for a short time, and had Billy 
been in his normal senses he would never have touched 
it. But the drink was still benumbing his brain, and 


‘'THE LIGHT RETREATED” 219 

quickly digging out the miraculous find he loaded it 
upon his sleigh and hurried to camp. 

But retribution swiftly followed. The stolen meat 
had belonged to the Graham camp, and it seemed it 
was a terrible crime to steal from a rich corporation, 
much worse than from a half-drunken man like poor 
Billy. The first thief was not arrested, but Billy 
was, and he was sent to jail. He would not be home 
for ever and ever so long and what was to become of 
them all, and what was to become of poor Billy? 

The little wife, accustomed though she was to hard- 
ships and griefs, was overcome by this crushing blow. 
With all his faults and weaknesses, Billy was her 
husband and the stay and support of the family, and 
besides, she had a dread of jail and its accompany- 
ing disgrace. By the time the sad tale was finished, 
she was worn out with sobs, and sat still, looking 
straight ahead of her into the fireless stove. But the 
baby’s cries roused her, and she took him in her 
arms, making a pitiful attempt to chirrup to him. 
The idiot boy, feeling dimly that something was 
wrong, came and rubbed his head against her like a 
faithful dog, whining grievously. She stroked his 
hair lovingly. “ Pore Eddie,” she said, “ it’d be 
better if you an’ me an’ the biby, was with Minnie ; ” 
and then with sudden compunction, “ but wot would 
pore Bill do without us ? ” 

Helen told the sad story at the supper table at 
Rosemount, that evening, and asked for help. Miss 


220 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


Armstrong promised to send a basket of food down 
the next day, though she did not approve of the 
Perkins family. She had found that to help that 
sort of shiftless people only made them worse. Why, 
last Christmas, there was one family on Willow Lane 
who received five turkeys from the Presbyterians 
alone, and the Dorcas society was always sending 
clothes to that poor unfortunate Mrs. Perkins. 
Mrs. Captain Willoughby herself, who was the Presi- 
dent, had seen the little Perkins girl wearing a dress 
just in tatters, that had been given to her in per- 
fectly good condition only the week before. Wasn’t 
the girl old enough to go out working.? 

“ The little girl died last fall of tuberculosis,” 
said Helen, in a low voice. “ She was just ten.” 

Miss Annabel’s big blue eyes suddenly filled. Oh, 
the poor dear little thing. Minnie used to be in my 
Sunday-school class, and I wondered why she hadn’t 
been there for so long. But we’ve been so dread- 
fully busy this fall, I simply hadn’t time to hunt her 
up. Elinor, we must send a jar of jelly to the 
poor woman, and I think I shall give her that last 
winter coat of mine. We’ll ask Leslie for some, she 
simply doesn’t know what to do with all her old 
clothes.” 

‘‘ Oh, please don’t,” said Helen in distress. She 
could not explain that which she had so lately 
learned herself, that what a woman like Mrs. Perkins 
needed was not old clothes nor even food, but a friend, 
and some knowledge of how to get clothes and food. 


‘‘THE LIGHT RETREATED” m 

“ I don’t think she really needs anything to wear 
just now. If we could get her some light work 
where she might take the baby, it would be so very 
much better for her.” 

Both ladies promised to see what could be done, 
but the Misses Armstrong, members in good standing 
of the Presbyterian church, kind hearted and fairly 
well off, had not a minute of time nor a cent of 
money to spend on people like Mrs. Perkins. The 
poor ladies were gradually discovering that the 
younger set, led by their own niece, and the moneyed 
people now becoming prominent in Algonquin, were 
slowly assuming the leadership in society. They 
were in danger of losing their proud position, and 
every nerve had to be strained to maintain it. What 
we have we’ll hold, had become the despairing motto 
of the Misses Armstrong, and its realisation required 
eternal vigilance. 

It was Alfred Tennyson who once more came to 
the family’s aid, and Helen was forced reluctantly 
to accept his help. He ran up hill and down dale 
and called upon every lady in the town, tiU at last 
he succeeded in getting work for Mrs. Perkins. Mrs. 
Hepburn, Lawyer Ed’s sister, said she might come 
to her and bring the baby, one day in the week. Mrs. 
J. P. Thornton and Mrs. Blair made like prom- 
ises, and Dr. Leslie persuaded Mammy Viney to let 
her come to the manse to wash, while Viney Junior, 
in high glee, promised to take care of little William 
Henry. 


222 THE END OE THE RAINBOW 


Every day, when the little mother went off to her 
work, with her baby in her arms, Angus McRae drove 
up to Willow Lane and took Eddie down to the farm. 
And with endless patience and tenderness he managed 
to teach the lad a few simple tasks about the house 
and barn. Angus McRae’s home was the refuge of 
the unfit, for young Peter did the chores in the 
winter when the Inverness was in the dock, and Old 
Peter came and stayed indefinitely when he was re- 
covering from a drunken spree, and Aunt Kirsty 
declared that there was no place where a body could 
put her foot without stepping on one of Angus’s was- 
trels. 

Roderick came back the week after Billy’s arrest. 
As he was the lawyer acting for Graham & Co. he 
could not be without some responsibility in Billy’s 
sad affair, and Old Angus awaited his explanation 
anxiously. He knew there would be an explanation, 
for the old man was possessed of the perfect assur- 
ance that his son was quite as interested in the un- 
fortunate folk that travelled the Jericho Roads of 
life as he was himself. But Roderick had some dif- 
ficulty in showing that he was quite innocent. 

He could not explain that this trip had been his 
probation time, and that if he had done his work 
with a slack hand there would be no hope of greater 
opportunities opening up before him. The big lum- 
ber firm of Graham &: Co., operating in the north, was 
really under Alexander Graham’s millionaire brother. 
And this man’s lawyer from Montreal had been there. 


‘‘THE LIGHT RETREATED” 


22S 


He was a great man in Roderick’s eyes, the head of 
a firm of continental reputation. He had kept the 
young man at his side, and had made known to him 
the significant fact that, one day, if he transacted 
business with the keenness and faithfulness that 
seemed to characterise all his actions now, there 
might be a bigger place awaiting him. The man 
said very little that was definite, but the Lad’s sleep 
had been disturbed by waking dreams of a great fu- 
ture. That his friend, Alexander Graham, was the 
mover in this he could not but believe, but he deter- 
mined to let the people in authority see that he could 
depend on his own merits. So he had done his work 
with a rigid adherence to law and rule that com- 
manded the older man’s admiration. Roderick felt 
it was unfortunate that poor Billy should have come 
under his disciplining hand at this time, but such 
cases as his were of daily occurrence in the camp. 
There was no use trying to carry on a successful 
business and at the same time coddle a lot of drunks 
and unfits like Billy. He had been compelled to 
weed out a dozen such during his stay in the north. 
Billy was only one of many, but when he remem- 
bered that he must give a report of him to the 
two people whose opinion he valued far more than the 
approval of even the great firm of Elliot & Kent, or 
of William Graham of New York, he felt that here 
surely was the irony of fate. 

“ I did my best. Dad,” he said, his warm heart 
smitten by the eager look in the old man’s eyes. 


224 < THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


“ But I had to protect my clients. There has been 
so much of that sort of stealing up there lately that 
stern measures had to be taken, and I was acting for 
the company.” Old Angus was puzzled. Evidently 
law was a machine which, if you once started operat- 
ing, you were no longer able to act as a responsible 
individual. He could not understand any circum- 
stances that would make it impossible to help a man 
who had fallen by the way as Billy had, but then 
Roderick knew about law, and Roderick would cer- 
tainly have done the best possible. His faith in the 
Lad was all unshaken. 

But the young man was not so hopeful about Miss 
Murray’s verdict. She had put Billy in his care, 
and it was but a sorry report he had to make of her 
trust. He was wondering if he dared call at Rose- 
mount and explain his part in the case, when he met 
her in Willow Lane. It was a clear wintry evening, 
and the pines cast long blue shadows across the 
snowy road ahead. Roderick was hurrying home to 
take supper at the farm, and Helen was coming out 
of the rough little path that led from the Perkins’ 
home. She was feeling tired and very sad. She had 
been reading a letter from the husband in prison, a 
sorrowful pencilled scrawl, pathetically misspelled, 
but breathing out true sympathy for his wife and 
children, and the deepest repentance and self-blame. 
And at the end of every misconstructed sentence like 
a wailing refrain were the words, “ I done wrong and 
I deserve all I got, but it’s hard on you old girl, and 


‘‘THE LIGHT RETREATED” m 

I thought that Old Angus’s son might have got me 
off.” 

Whether right or wrong, Helen felt a sting of re- 
sentment, as she looked up and saw Roderick swing- 
ing down the road towards her. He seemed so big 
and comfortable in his long winter overcoat, so strong 
and capable, and yet he had used his strength and 
skill against Billy. Her woman’s heart refused to 
see any justice in the case. She did not return the 
radiant smile with which he greeted her. In spite 
of his fears, he could not but be glad at the sight of 
her, with the rosy glow of the sunset lighting up her 
sweet face and reflected in the gold of her hair. 

“ I was so sorry to have such news of Billy I was 
afraid to call,” he said as humbly as though it was he 
who had stolen and been committed to prison. 

“ Oh, it’s so sad I just can’t bear it,” she burst 
forth, the tears filling her eyes. “ Oh, couldn’t you 
have done something, Mr. McRae?” 

Roderick was overcome with dismay. “ I — I — did 
all I could,” he stammered. “ It was impossible to 
save him. He stole and he had to bear the penalty.” 

“ But you were on the other side,” she cried 
vaguely but indignantly. “ I don’t see how you 
could do it.” 

“ But, Miss Murray ! ” cried Roderick, amazed at 
her unexpected vehemence. “ I was acting for the 
company I represent. It’s unreasonable, if you will 
pardon me for speaking so strongly, to expect I 
could sacrifice their interests and allow the law to be 


^26 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


broken.” He was really pleading his own case. 
There was a dread of her condemnation in his eyes 
which she could not mistake. But her heart was too 
sore for the Perkins family to feel any compunction 
for him, 

“ I don’t understand law I know,” she said sadly. 
“ But I can’t understand how your father’s son could 
see that poor irresponsible creature sent to jail for 
the sake of a big rich company. His wife’s heart is 
broken, that’s all,” She was losing her self-control 
once more, and she hastily bade him good-evening, 
and before Roderick could speak again she was gone. 

The young man walked swiftly homeward; the 
blackness of the darkening pine forest was nothing 
to the gloom of his soul. He spent long hours of the 
night and many of the next day striving to state the 
case in a way that would justify himself in the girl’s 
eyes. In his extremity he went to Lawyer Ed for 
comfort. 

‘‘What could I do.^” he asked, “What would 
you have done in that case ? ” 

Lawyer Ed scratched his head. “ I really don’t 
know what a fellow’s to do now. Rod, that’s the truth, 
when he’s doing business for a skinflint like Sandy 
Graham. You just have to do as he wants or jump 
the job, that’s a fact.” 

But Roderick did not need to be told that his chief 
would have jumped any job no matter how big, 
rather than hurt a poor weakling like Billy Perkins. 

So those were dark days for Roderick in spite of 


‘‘THE LIGHT RETREATED” 




all the brilliant prospects opening ahead of him. He 
could not tell which was harder to bear, his father’s 
perfect faith in him, despite all evidence to the con- 
trary, or the girl’s look of reproach, despite all his 
attempts to set himself right in her eyes. He was 
learning, too, that not till he had lost her good 
opinion did he realise that he wanted it more than 
anything else in the world. 

But there were compensations. When he finished 
his business he received a letter of congratulation 
from Mr. Kent, and a commission to do some impor- 
tant work for him. He found some solace, too, in the 
bright approving eyes of Leslie Graham. Her per- 
fect confidence in him furnished a little balm to his 
wounded feelings. Certainly she was not so exact- 
ing, for she cared not at all about the Perkinses and 
all the other troublesome folk on the Jericho Road. 


CHAPTER XI 


“ THE EANDSKIP DARKEN’D ” 

R ODERICK’S work allowed him little chance 
for brooding over his worries, for Lawyer 
Ed left more and more to him as the days 
went on. Not that he did any less, but the temper- 
ance campaign was on again, all racial and religious 
prejudices forgotten, in the glory of the fight. 
Lawyer Ed was quite content that his young partner 
should let him do all the public speaking, and so 
neither side was offended at the young man’s careful 
steering in a middle course. Roderick himself hated 
it, but there seemed no other way, on the road he was 
determined to follow. 

He was not too busy to watch Helen Murray, and 
serve her in every way possible.’ He tried to atone 
for his past neglect of the Perkins family by getting 
Billy a good position on his return, and was rewarded 
by being allowed to walk up to Rosemount with Helen 
the night Billy came home. He was so quietly per- 
sistent in his devotion to the girl, making no demands, 
but always standing ready to serve her, that she 
could not but see how matters were with him. But 
the revelation brought her no joy. Her heart was 
328 


‘‘LANDSKIP DARKEN’D” 


229 


still full of bitter memories, and with all gentleness 
and kindness, she set about the task of showing 
Roderick that his attentions were unwelcome. It was 
not an easy task, for she was often very lonely and 
sometimes she forgot that she must not allow him to 
waylay her in Willow Lane and walk up to Rose- 
mount with her. Again she punished herself for her 
laxity by being very severe with him and at such 
times Roderick allowed himself to seek comfort for 
his wounded feelings in Leslie Graham’s company, 
for Leslie was always kind and charming. 

One evening, Roderick and Fred Hamilton had 
been dining at the Grahams and had walked home 
with the Misses Baldwin. They were returning down 
the hill together, and Fred, who had been very sulky 
all evening, grew absolutely silent. Roderick tried 
several topics in vain and finally gave up the attempt 
at conversation and swung along whistling, his hands 
in his pockets. 

At last the young man spoke. 

I’m going West this spring.” 

‘‘ Oh, are you.?^ ” said Roderick, glad to hear him 
say something. “ You’re lucky. That’s where I’d 
like to be going.” 

“ Yes, likely,” sneered the other. “ I guess any 
fellow can see what direction you’re going all 
right.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” asked Roderick, nettled at 
the tone. 

“ Oh, yes, as if you didn’t know,” growled his ag- 


230 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


grieved rival. “You don’t need to think I’m blind 
and deaf too, and a fool into the bargain.” 

Roderick stopped short in the middle of the snowy 
side-walk. “ Look here,” he said quietly, “ if you 
don’t speak up like a man, and tell me what you’re 
hinting at I — well. I’ll have to make you, that’s all.” 

Fred had run foul of Roderick McRae at school 
and knew from painful experience that it was not safe 
to make him very angry. 

“ Well, you needn’t get so hot about it,” he said 
half apologetically. “ I merely hinted that you — 
well, you can’t help seeing it yourself — ” 

‘‘ Seeing what, you blockhead.^ ” 

“ Seeing that she — that Leslie doesn’t care two 
pins about anybody but you. She’d be glad if I 
went West to-morrow.” The hot blood rushed into 
Roderick’s face. He turned upon the young man, 
but they were passing under an electric light and the 
look of misery In Fred’s face disarmed him. He 
burst into derisive laughter. 

“ Well, of all the idiots ! ” he exclaimed. “ You 
ought to be horsewhipped for insulting a young lady 
so. Can’t you see, you young madman, that she’s 
just trying to show a little bit of polite gratitude? 
I know I don’t deserve it, but she seems to be as grate- 
ful to me for helping you that night on the lake, 
and you must be a fool if you think anything else.” 

The young man walked on for a little in silence. 
Then he said, in quite a changed tone, “ Are you 
sure. Rod? ” 


‘^LANDSKIP DARKEN’D” 


231 


‘‘ Yes, of course,” shouted Roderick, you ought 
to be shut up in a mad house for thinking anything 
else.” 

“ Well, she told everybody in the town last fall 
that I upset her, just to give you the glory,” he 
said resentfully. 

“ Pshaw,” cried Roderick disgustedly. She did 
it for pure fun, and you ought to have taken it that 
way. You don’t deserve her for a friend.” 

Fred seemed to be pondering this for a while, and 
finally he said, Well, maybe you’re right. Only 
I — well, you know how I feel about Leslie. She^ — 
we’ve been chums ever since we were kids, and you may 
be sure I don’t like the idea of any other fellow cut- 
ting in ahead of me now.” 

“ Well, wait till some fellow does before you jump 
on him again,” said Roderick, so hotly that the other 
grew apologetic. 

I didn’t mean to be such a jay. Rod. It’s all 
right if you say so. I guess I was crazy. If you 
just give me your word that you haven’t intentions 
towards her, why, it’ll be all right.” 

Roderick gave the assurance with all his heart, and 
Fred insisted upon shaking hands over it, and they 
parted on the best of terms. 

But Roderick felt covered with shame when he 
found himself alone on the Pine Road. He could not 
deny to his heart that Fred’s suspicions had some 
little reason in them, and the knowledge filled him 
with dismay. He was humiliated by the thought 


232 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


that he had accepted many favours from Leslie’s 
father and been a welcome guest many, many times 
at her home, and he wondered miserably if Helen 
Murray held the same opinion as Fred. 

He came back to his office the next morning deter- 
mined to avoid Leslie Graham, no matter what the 
consequence. 

She called him on the telephone, wrote dainty 
notes, and strolled past the office at the time when 
he was likely to be leaving, all to no avail. Roderick 
was buried in work, and slowly but surely the knowl- 
edge began to dawn upon the girl that she, with all 
her attractions, was being gently but firmly put aside. 

And so the winter sped away on the swift wheels 
of busy days, and when spring came the local option 
petition began to circulate. And once more Roderick 
escaped the necessity of declaring himself. 

The firm of Elliot and Kent, with whom he had 
worked in the North, wished to consult him, and 
he was summoned to Montreal for a week. 

Lawyer Ed saw him oflp at the station fairly puffed 
up with pride over his boy’s importance. 

When Roderick returned, the petition was signed, 
and sent away, and Lawyer Ed was jubilating over 
the fact that they could have got far more names if 
they had wanted them. And Roderick comforted 
himself with the thought that his was not needed after 
all. 

The excitement subsided for a time after this, the 


‘‘LANDSKIP DARKEN’D” 


233 


real hard preparation for voting day would not com- 
mence until the autumn, so J. P. Thornton was 
seized with the grand idea that the coming summer 
was surely the heaven-decreed occasion upon which 
to go off on that long-deferred holiday. The inspira- 
tion came to him one day when he had telephoned 
Lawyer Ed twice and called at his office three times 
to find him out each time. 

‘‘ Is this the office of Brians and McRae or only 
McRae?” he asked when Roderick informed him for 
the third time that his chief was absent. 

“ Well, it isn’t often like this,” said the junior 
partner apologetically. “ We’ll get back to our old 
routine when my chief gets over his local option ex- 
citement.” 

If you can run this business alone during a Local 
Option to-do, I see no reason why you couldn’t while 
we take three months holidays, do you? ” 

‘‘No, I do not,” said Roderick heartily. “ Can’t 
you make Lawyer Ed go to the Holy Land this 
spring? I’ll do anything to help him go. He needs 
a rest.” 

J. P. Thornton looked at the young man smiling 
reminiscently. He was recalling the night when two 
young men gave up that very trip and Lawyer Ed had 
laughingly declared he would go some day even if he 
had to wait till little Roderick grew up. “ And little 
the boy knows,” said Mr. Thornton to himself, “ just 
how much Ed gave up that time.” 


234 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


‘‘Well,” he said aloud, “this is surely poetic jus- 
tice.” 

“ What is ? ” asked Roderick puzzled. But J. P. 
would not explain. “ We’ll just make him go,” he 
declared. “ You stand behind me. Rod, and don’t 
let him get back to work, and I’ll get him off.” 

It was not entirely the old boyish desire to go on 
the long-looked-for trip with his friend that was at 
the bottom of Mr. Thornton’s anxiety to get away. 
He could not help seeing that Ed needed a rest and 
needed it very badly. Archie Blair aroused his fears 
further. For one evening Lawyer Ed did an alto- 
gether unprecedented thing and went home to bed 
early. Mrs. Hepburn, his sister, was so amazed 
over such a piece of conduct on her brother’s part, 
that she called at the doctor’s office the next day to 
ask if he thought there was anything wrong with Ed’s 
heart. 

Doctor Blair laughed long and loud over the ques- 
tion, putting the lady’s fears at rest. 

“No, I don’t think any one in Algonquin would 
admit there was anything astray with Ed’s heart, 
Mary,” he said. “ But his head might be vastly im- 
proved by putting a little common sense into it re- 
garding eating and sleeping. He’s been going too 
hard for about twenty-five 'years and he’s tired, that’s 
all. But J. P.’s going to get him off this time, all 
right, and the change is just what he needs.” 

He spoke to J. P. about it, and the two determined 
that they would make all preparations to start for the 


‘‘LANDSKIP DARKEN’D” 


235 


Holy Land in July and if Ed had to be bound and 
gagged until the steamer sailed, they would certainly 
see that he went. 

Lawyer Ed consented with the greatest enthusiasm. 
Of course he would go. He really believed he had 
enough money saved up, and Roderick was doing 
everything, anyway, and he could just start off for 
a forty years wandering in the wilderness if J. P. 
would go with him. 

The whole town became quite excited when Mrs. 
Hepburn announced at a tea given by Mrs. Captain 
Willoughby that her brother and J. P. Thornton 
were really and truly, even should Algonquin go up in 
flames the day before, going to sail from Montreal 
sometime in July for foreign parts. There was a 
great deal of running to and from the Thornton and 
Brians homes, and a tremendous amount of talking 
and advising. And the only topic of conversation 
for weeks, in the town, was the Holy Land, and the 
question which greeted a new-comer invariably was, 
“Did you hear that Lawyer Ed and J. P. have really 
decided to go ? ” 

All this bustle of preparation and expectation did 
not deceive J. P. into a false position of security. He 
was by no means confident, and he kept a strict eye 
on Lawyer Ed to see that he did not launch some new 
scheme that would demand his personal attention till 
Christmas. For well he knew that until his friend 
was on board the steamer and beyond swimming dis- 
tance from the land, he was not safe. Any day some- 


S36 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 

thing might arise to make it seem quite impossible to 
go. 

So he was thrown into quite a state of nervousness 
when, early in June, Algonquin began to prepare for 
a unique celebration. The first of July had been 
chosen as “ Old Boys’ Day,” and all Algonquin’s 
exiled sons had been invited to come back to the old 
home on that day and be made happy. 

“ Old Boys’ Day ” was an entirely new institution 
in Algonquin. Indeed she did not have many sons 
beyond middle age, but other Ontario towns were 
having these reunions, and Algonquin was never known 
to be behind her contemporaries, in the matter of 
having anything new, even though the newest thing 
was Old Boys. 

So no wonder J. P. Thornton was anxious. For 
such a celebration was just the sort of thing in which 
Lawyer Ed gloried. Fortunately it was set a month 
before they were to sail, but J. P. knew that Ed 
would need all that time to recover from the perfect 
riot of friendship into which he would be sure to 
plunge on Old Boys’ Day. 

As the first of July approached, the whole town 
gave itself up to extravagant preparations and, as 
J. P. expected. Lawyer Ed, turned over his office to 
Roderick, put away railway time-tables and guide 
books and headed every committee. There was a 
committee of ladies from all the churches to serve 
dinner to the Old Boys on their arrival. There was 


‘^LANDSKIP DARKEN’D” 


S37 


a decorating committee with instructions to cover 
the town with flags and bunting and banners, no mat- 
ter what the cost. There was a committee for sports, 
on both land and water and, most important of all, 
a reception committee, half to go down to Barbay with 
Captain Jimmie and the town band to bring the Old 
Boys home by water, the only proper way to ap- 
proach Algonquin, and the other half to meet them 
at the dock. 

Of course all this upheaval and bustle did not take 
place without some slight discord. The first storm 
arose through a dispute as to where the big dinner 
should be held upon the arrival of the boat. The 
first suggestion was that it be held in the opera 
house. But unfortunately, many of the best people 
of Algonquin objected to holding anything there as 
a matter of principle. 

It was the common case of a very good place hav- 
ing a bad name. Had the opera house been called 
the town hall, which it really was, no one would have 
found fault with it. But its name suggested actors 
and the theatre, and many of the good folk, Mr. Mc- 
Pherson at their head, just wouldn’t countenance it 
at all. 

Of course there was the other class who said Al- 
gonquin would be too dull to live in were it not for 
the winter attractions of the opera house which gave 
it such a bad name. In fact every one who had any 
pretensions towards knowing what was the correct 


238 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


thing in city life, went regularly to the plays, and 
declared they were just as high class as you would see 
in Toronto. 

Indeed a new play was always announced as “ The 
Greatest Attraction in Toronto Last Week,” and 
companies had several times come all the way from 
New York just to appear in Algonquin. Then every 
winter there were the Topp Brothers who came and 
stayed a whole week in Crofter’s Hotel, and gave 
a different play every night. There were all the best 
known dramas, ‘‘ Lady Audley’s Secret,” and “ East 
Lynne ” and ‘‘ Uncle Tom’s Cabin,” and once they 
even gave “ Faust,” — without music, it is true, but 
a splendid reproduction nevertheless, with the biggest 
and tallest Topp brother as Mephisto, all in red satin 
and, every one said, just perfectly terrible. 

So every one who knew anything at all about what 
was demanded of people moving in the best circles, 
pronounced the opera house the finest institution in 
the town and demanded that the Old Boys be taken 
to it upon their arrival and welcomed and fed. And 
all the other people said it was a sinful and worldly 
place, and declared they would have no Old Boys’ 
banquet at all if it were to be served in that theatrical 
abomination. 

The Presbyterian Sunday-school room was the 
next place in size, and, to smooth matters over. Law- 
yer Ed offered it for the dinner. 

Then the Anglican and the Catholic and the Metho- 
dist ladies met and said it was just like the Presby- 


‘‘LANDSKIP DARKEN’D” S39 

terians to want to have the banquet in their church, 
to make it appear to the Old Boys that they were 
doing it all. And Mrs. Captain Willoughby, the 
smartest woman in Algonquin and the Convener of 
the dinner committee, said that if those gossipy old 
cranks wanted to have the banquet in the lock-up, 
why they might have it there for all she cared, but 
she wanted every one to know that it would be served 
in the Presbyterian School room or she would have 
nothing to do with it. That almost settled it for 
every one knew it was utterly impossible to get up 
such a huge affair without Mrs. Captain Willoughby 
at the head. But the very next night Jock Mc- 
Pherson brought up the matter in a session meeting 
and objected to having the dinner in the schoolroom, 
as it was not a religious gathering. 

But Lawyer Ed met and overcame every difficulty. 
He laughed and cajoled the opera house party into 
giving way. He forced the programme committee to 
put Mr. McPherson down for one of the chief ad- 
dresses of welcome at the banquet, and the objections 
ceased. He called up his friend Father Tracy on the 
telephone and bade him see that his flock did their 
duty in the matter, and he took the Methodist 
minister’s wife and the Anglican clergyman’s daugh- 
ter and Mrs. Captain Willoughby all down town 
together for ice cream, and there was no more trouble. 

“ Women are ticklish things to handle. Rod,” he 
said, wiping his perspiring forehead when all was 
harmony again. “ The only wise way for a man to 


240 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


act is to get married and hand over all such manoeu- 
vres to his wife. See that you get one as soon as 
possible.” 

“ I’ve heard something somewhere regarding the 
advantage of example over precept,” said Roderick 
gravely. 

I ‘‘ Hold your tongue,” said his chief severely. If 
I wish to serve you as a terrible warning, to be avoided, 
instead of an example to be followed, you ought to 
be grateful in any case.” 

I He strode away swinging his cane and whistling 
and Roderick watched him with affectionate eyes. 
He was wondering, as all the town wondered, except 
a couple of his nearest friends who knew, why Law- 
yer Ed had never married. And he was thinking of 
a pair of soft blue eyes that had not grown any kinder 
to him as the months had passed. He went back to 
his work, the solace for all his troubles. He was 
taking no part in the preparations for the Old Boys’ 
celebration, and was looking forward to the date with 
small pleasure. For that was the day she would 
likely be leaving for her summer vacation. And who 
knew whether she would come back or not? So he 
watched Lawyer Ed’s joyous preparations for the 
Old Boys’ visit, without much interest, little thinking 
it was to be of more moment to him than to any one 
else in Algonquin. 

Early in the morning of the first of July the rain 
came pouring down, but the clouds cleared away be- 
fore ten o’clock, leaving the little town fresh and 


^^LANDSKIP DARKEN’D” 241 


green and glowing after its bath. Everything was 
dressed in its best for the visitors. The gardens were 
in their brightest summer decorations. The June 
roses and peonies were not yet gone, and the syringa 
bushes and jessamine trees were all a-bloom. Main 
Street was lined with banners and overhung with gay 
bunting. Lake Algonquin smiled and twinkled and 
sparkled out her welcome. The fairy islands, the 
surrounding woods, everything, was at its freshest 
and greenest. 

Early in the morning the Inverness with half of the 
entertainment committee, the town band, and such 
youngsters as Captain Jimmie could not eject from 
his decks, sailed away down to B'arbay to bring the 
heroes home and, as the Chronicle said in a splendid 
editorial, the next morning, Algonquin’s heart 
throbbed with pride as the goodly ship sailed into 
port with her precious cargo. The Barbay Clarion^ 
Algonquin’s and the Chroniclers bitter and hasty 
enemy, wearily remarked the next week that Algon- 
quin always found something to be proud of anyway. 
But there could be no doubt Algonquin had reason 
on this first of July, for the Inverness carried home- 
ward men whose names had brought honour to the 
little town. 

There was J. P.’s son who edited the paper read 
by every Canadian from Halifax to Vancouver, ex- 
cept those who, wilfully blinded by political prejudice, 
read the organ of the opposite party. There was 
Tom Willoughby, the captain’s brother, member for 


^42 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


the Dominion House, who tore himself away from 
Ottawa, every one felt, at great risk to his country’s 
weal, leaving the question of war in South Africa and 
reciprocity with Australia in abeyance, while he 
rushed across the country to do honour to the old 
home town. As the Chronicle said, the next morn- 
ing, being a supporter of Tom’s party, not even King 
Edward himself could have found fault with a loyalty 
that would take such risks for home and native 
land. 

There was Sandy Graham’s brother from New 
York, who had made, some said, a million in real 
estate deals in the West, and Lawyer Ed’s own 
brother, who was a professor of note in a University 
“ down East.” There were business, and professional 
men, young workmen from near by cities and towns, 
statesmen and scholars. But of them all, none was 
such a hero, and none so eagerly awaited, as Harry 
Armstrong. For only the summer before, Harry had 
taken a Canadian lacrosse team around the world and 
had vanquished everything in Europe, Asia and 
Africa that dared to hold up a stick against them. 

When the first far away note of the Inverness^ 
whistle floated across the water from the Gates, the 
ladies at the Presbyterian church began putting the 
finishing touches to the tables and the dressing on the 
salads, and half of the reception committee that had 
remained at home drove down to the dock. They 
arranged themselves there in proper order, with Cap- 
tain Willoughby, the Mayor, at the head, or rather 


‘^LANDSKIP DARKEN’D” 


almost at the head, for of course Lawyer Ed was a 
few steps in advance of him. 

The dock was a new and important landing 
place. There was a big distinction between the dock 
and the wharf. The latter was the decrepit old 
wooden structure, tom and jarred by ice and storms, 
that stood at the foot of Main Street, where every 
one of the Old Boys had fished and fallen in and 
nearly drowned himself many a time. But the dock, 
as every one knew, was the fine new landing place, 
built of stone and cement, and stretcliing from the 
town park, away out, it almost seemed, as far as the 
Gates. The Inverness had had instruction to put in 
at the dock, not only to impress the Old Boys with 
the strides Algonquin had made, but as a delicate 
compliment to Tom Willoughby, through whose 
political infiuence it had been built. 

All the cabs in town had been hired and all the 
buggies loaned, and they lined up along the park 
road waiting to take the guests up to the church. 
Lawyer Ed had suggested at first that the Mayor 
ride down in his automobile, but as all the horses in 
town had to be out at the same time, the experiment 
was voted too dangerous and the Mayor drove in a 
commonplace but safe cab. 

Every one was at his proper station waiting when, 
with a blaze of colour and a burst of music, the Inver- 
ness curved around Wanda Island and swept into 
view. She was a brave sight surely! From every 
side fioated banners and pennons, her deck rail and 


U4i THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


her flag-staff were covered with green boughs, Old 
Boys fairly swarmed the decks from stem to stern. 
And up in the bow, their instruments flashing in the 
sunlight, stood the band, playing loudly and gaily, 
“ Home, Sweet Home.” 

No one ever quite knew who was to blame that 
things went amiss from that splendid moment. Cap- 
tain Jimmie said it was the fault of Major Dobie, 
the leader of the band, and Major Dobie was equally 
certain it was the captain’s fault. The Old Boys 
themselves were willing to take all the blame, and 
perhaps they were right, for they danced on the deck, 
and crowded about the wheel so that Captain Jimmie 
had no idea whither he was steering. However it was, 
instead of turning to starboard, as he had been in- 
structed, and running in to the dock where the com- 
mittee waited. Captain Jimmie swept to larboard 
around the buoy that marked his turning point, and 
made straight for his old hitching post at the wharf. 

The Mayor and the Committee shouted and waved. 
Lawyer Ed stood up on the seat of a cab and roared 
out a command across the water that might have been 
heard at the Gates, but the band and the cheers of 
the Old Boys drowned his voice. Captain Jimmie 
pursued his mistaken course, never once stopping in 
the stream of Gaelic with which he was entertaining 
his Highland guests, and even the half of the Commit- 
tee on board forgot where they were to land, in their 
joyous excitement. 

Then Lawyer Ed fairly pitched Afternoon Tea 


‘‘LANDSKIP DARKEN’D’" 


245 


Willie into a row-boat and sent him spinning across 
the water to head-ofF the Irwemess and make her turn 
to the park. But the poor boy had been working 
like a slave since early morning at the Presbyterian 
church, and could not row fast enough. He was only 
half-way across when the whistle sounded to shut ofF 
steam. Biut just as the Inverness stopped with a 
bump, some one of the committee came to his senses, 
and rushed to the captain, pointing out the frantic- 
ally waving hosts on the dock, 

“ Cosh ! Bless my soul ! ” cried Captain Jimmie in 
dismay. He gave a wrench to the wheel, shouting 
orders to the Ancient Mariner to gee her around and 
go back, but he was too late. Before the gang-plank 
had been thrown out, or rope hitched, the Old Boys 
had leaped ashore. Captain Jimmie yelled at them 
to come back, but they paid no more heed than they 
would have done twenty-five years earlier and , went 
swarming joyfully up Main Street. 

But meanwhile a dozen of the reception committee 
had come tearing down the railroad track from the 
park and were shouting upon them to stop. Then the 
Mayor, Archie Blair, J. P. Thornton and Lawyer Ed 
having leaped into a cab, and driven furiously across 
the town, were now thundering down Main Street. 
They headed ofF the truant Old Boys, and drove them 
back to the wharf to be received decorously and listen 
to the welcoming address. As they had dashed past 
the Presbyterian church at a mad gallop, every one 
became alarmed and the news spread that a dreadful 


246 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


disaster had happened to the Inverness, But After^ 
noon Tea Willie came running up out of breath and 
wet with perspiration to tell them the real state of 
affairs. He was scolded soundly by Mrs. Captain 
Willoughby, and went about pouring out apologies 
all day after. 

So the reception took place at the wharf after all, 
with every one in imminent danger of going through 
the rotten planks into the lake. It was a rather in^ 
formal affair. J. P. Thornton and Archie Blair 
tried to preserve some dignity, but Lawyer Ed was 
in a towering rage and cared not for decorum. He 
shook his fist at the Old Boys and told them they 
were howling idiots and had lost what little manners 
they had learned in Algonquin. Then he stood up 
on the carriage seat, his face red, his eyes blazing, 
and called Captain Jimmie an old blind mole and an 
ostrich and everything else in the world foolish and 
unthinking. Captain Jimmie shouted back with a 
right good Highland spirit, from his vantage point 
on the deck and all the Old Boys cheered joyously, 
declaring this was the one thing needful to make 
them feel absolutely at home. 

Finally the proper welcome was stammered out by 
the Mayor, who was even less at home making a speech 
than running his automobile, and they all got away 
and the procession started up towards the church. 

On every side were shouts of welcome : “ Hello, 
Bob!’’ “Hi, there. Jack, you home too.?” “Well, 


‘^LANDSKIP DARKEN’D” 


m 

well, if there isn’t old Bill! No place like Algon- 
quin, eh Bill? ” etc., etc. Harry Armstrong was 
easily the favourite, and was the recipient of many 
welcoming shouts. 

Roderick stood at the door watching the procession 
go past to the church. He was amazed to see Law- 
yer Ed and his brother seated in the same carriage 
as Alexander Graham. There was a ponderous man 
with a double chin seated beside him, and going into 
a spasm of laughter every time Lawyer Ed spoke. 
Roderick looked at him with keen interest. This was 
William Graham, the man whose word was law with 
the firm of Elliot and Kent. He had come all the way 
from New York for this celebration entirely, he de- 
clared in his speech at the banquet, because Ed had 
wired him to come and he could not resist Ed. They 
had been great friends in boyhood days, and the big 
brother cared not a whit that Sandy had a grudge 
at Ed. If that were so, he declared, then all the 
more shame to Sandy. So he was seated between the 
Brians brothers, fairly radiating joy from his big 
fat person, when the procession passed Lawyer Ed’s 
office. His chief waved his hat at Roderick and 
roared : 

“ Come awa ben the kirk, ma braw John Hielan- 
man ! ” and then he turned to the portly gentleman 
at his side and said : 

“ That’s Angus McRae’s boy. Bill. He’s my part- 

99 


ner now.' 


248 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


“Angus McRae’s son? You mean Roderick Mc- 
Rae ? ” The millionaire turned and stared at the 
young man keenly. He nodded to his brother. 

“ Looks like a likely lad all right,” he said. “ I 
want to see you about him, Ed, when all the fuss is 
over.” 

Roderick had such a pile of work on the desk be- 
fore him, that he did not get up to the church until 
the luncheon was over and the last speaker but one 
on his feet. This was Jock McPherson, and when 
Roderick slipped into the crowds standing at the ends 
of the long glittering tables, the little man was ex- 
plaining very slowly and solemnly that as the after- 
noon with its long programme was approaching he 
would not be keeping them. All his oratorical rivals 
had had their turn at the Old Boys and Mr. McPher- 
son was just a bit nettled at being crowded into the 
last few minutes. J. P, Thornton and Archie Blair 
and Lawyer Ed had got themselves put on ahead of 
him and had taken all the time and said all the com- 
plimenting things to be said. Captain Willoughby 
was the chairman and, though it was agony for him to 
make a speech, he had tried in his halting way to make 
amends to Mr. McPherson. It was a pity that such 
an able speaker had been left so late, he had ex- 
plained, but there were so many on the programme 
that some one had to come last, etc., etc. Jock arose 
after this very doubtful introduction, and spoke so 
deliberately that Lawyer Ed and J. P. exchanged sig- 
nificant glances, there was something coming. “ It 


‘‘LANDSKIP DARKEN’D’’ 


M9 


iss true Mr. Chairman and Gentlemen,” he said slowly, 
“ that there have been many fine speeches delivered 
this afternoon. And now what shall I say.? For I 
feel that uffery thing has already been said.” He 
paused and gave the peculiar sniffing sound that told 
he had scented a joke from afar and was going to hunt 
it to earth. Yes, Mr. Chairman and Gentlemen, 
there is no doubt that there is vurry little left to be 
said on any subject whatufFer. I feel vurry much 
like the meenister who went into the pulpit with his 
sermon. He had not looked at it since he had put 
it away the night before, and the mice had got at it 
and had eaten all the firstly, the secondly and the 
thirdly, and there was vurry little left — vurry little 
left, Mr. Chairman and Gentlemen. But the meenis- 
ter would jist be explaining his dilemma to the people, 
‘ My dearly beloved brethren,’ he said, said he, ‘ I am 
vurry sorry to inform you that the mice have got at 
my sermon, and have eaten firstly, secondly and 
thirdly, but as it cannot be helped, my dearly beloved 
brethren, we will jist be commencing where the mice 
left off! ’ ” 

Even the mice had to join in the laugh on them- 
selves, and when J ock had given the few words of his 
fourthly which were left, every one, himself included, 
was in fine humour. 

The last speaker was Alexander Graham’s wealthy 
brother. William Graham had been the most suc- 
cessful, from one point of view, of all Algonquin’s 
returning sons. He had got together enough wealth, 


250 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


folk said, to buy out Algonquin twice over. Beside, 
he had become quite famous in political life in his 
adopted country, and rumour had it that he might 
have been President of the United States had he not 
been bom in Canada. William himself denied this, 
but he could not deny the honours his adopted coun- 
try had showered upon him. His name was a power 
in Washington circles, and he had more than once, 
gone abroad on international matters of grave import. 

Nevertheless, Algonquin received him with some 
embarrassment mingled with her joy and pride. Bill 
Graham, the Algonquin boy, was a welcome sight to 
every one, for he had always been popular. But, W. 
H. Graham, the great American, was quite another 
matter, and many of his warmest friends had an un- 
comfortable feeling that they were committing an 
act of disloyalty to Britain in thus making him pub- 
licly welcome. It was all right to make money out 
of the Yankees, and Bill was commended for his mil- 
lions, but to join the enemy and help it work out its 
problems was a dangerous precedent to set before the 
youth of the town. 

He made a very wise speech, saying very little 
about the States, and a great deal about his joy at 
getting home again, but when he sat down, the ap- 
plause was not quite as enthusiastic as had been given 
the other home-comers and Lawyer Ed’s warm heart 
was grieved. As they stood up to sing the National 
Anthem before dispersing, like true sons of Algon- 
quin, J. P. whispered: 


‘‘LANDSKIP DARKEN’D” 


251 


“ Too bad about old Bill, can’t we do something 
better for him? ” 

Lawyer Ed was just swinging the crowd into the 
thunder of God Save our gracious King,” but he 
heard, and a sudden inspiration thrilled him. He 
nodded reassuringly to J. P. and waved his arms to 
beat time, for Major Dobie and the band were getting 
far behind. 

Just as the last words of the national anthem were 
uttered, with a flourish of his hand to the band to 
continue, and another towards Bill to show that the 
graceful tribute was intended for him. Lawyer Ed 
burst forth into “ My country ’tis of thee — ” The 
band caught up the strain again, another wave of the 
leader’s hand, and the Old Boys joined and every one 
burst generously into the second line Sweet land of 
liberty,” with smiling eyes turned towards the Ameri- 
can millionaire. 

Graham smiled radiantly back. Down in his heart 
he cared not a Canadian copper cent for the American 
national anthem, but he did care a great deal for 
the love of his old friends, and he was touched and 
pleased. 

But alas for the generous tribute to the American. 
No one knew a word of the song beyond the second 
line. Lawyer Ed started off with a splendid shout, 
“ Land where the — ” but got no further. The band 
and the drum thundered gallantly over the lapse, but 
the singing dwindled away. The leader cast one 
agonised glance towards the American but Bill sent 


252 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


back a hopeless negative, and cleared bis throat and 
twitched his New York tie. The Old Boys began to 
grin, and Lawyer Ed began to grow hot at the fear 
of making a fiasco of what he had intended for a 
grand finale. But he kept doggedly on, for Lawyer 
Ed never in his life gave up anything he started out 
to do, and even if he had had no tune as well as no 
words he would have sung that song through to the 
bitter end. So far above the band and the drum 
his voice rang out splendidly, defying fate: 

“ Land where the lee la 
Land where the doo da day — 

Then, hearing the laughter rising like a tide about 
him, he flung the American tribute to the winds, and 
roared out strong and distinct, the whole congress of 
Old Boys following in a burst of relief, 

“ Long to reign over us, 

God save our King,'^ 

The banquet broke up in a storm of laughter, the 
American millionaire’s loudest of all. 

‘‘ Oh, Ed,” he cried, wiping his eyes, ‘‘ stick to the 
old version. You’re more loyal than you knew ! ” 

Roderick was leaving the room with the crowd, 
when Leslie Graham, in a bewitching white cap and 
tiny apron, caught his arm. 

“ Don’t run away ! ” she cried, “ I was told to fetch 
you to Uncle Will, he wants to meet you. If he’s 


‘‘LANDSKIP DARKEN’D” 


253 


going to make a Yankee out of you, see that you 
resist him strenuously.” 

“ One American in your family is enough, isn’t it, 
Les.? ” said Anna Baldwin, her big black eyes staring 
very innocently at Roderick. 

Roderick blushed like a girl, but Leslie Graham 
laughed delightedly. 

“ Isn’t Anna shocking.? ” she asked, glancing coyly 
at Roderick, as they moved back through the crowd. 
But he did not hear her, and she was surprised at a 
sudden light that sprang to his eyes. She looked in 
their direction, and saw Helen Murray in a blue gown 
and a white cap and apron. She was standing in the 
doorway leading to the kitchen. 

Madame was talking to her and the girl’s usually 
grave face was animated and lighted with a lovely 
smile. Leslie Graham looked at her then back swiftly 
to Roderick. There was a look in his eyes she had 
never seen there before. The old suspicion roused 
the night she had seen him help Miss Murray out of 
his canoe returned. Her gay chatter suddenly ceased. 
She presented Roderick to her uncle and quickly 
turned away and was lost in the crowd. 

Roderick scarcely noticed that she had gone, he was 
wondering if the summer holidays were to be spent 
in Algonquin after all, and then he noticed that the 
man he had been anxious to meet was shaking his hand, 
“ I’m glad to see Angus McRae’s son ! ” the big man 
was saying. ‘‘ Yes, yes, I’d know you by your father. 


^54 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


And how is he? I must see him before I leave. 
Sandy’s been telling me about your work here. And 
Ed too. Do you intend to settle in Algonquin? ” 

“ I hope not, sir, not permanently at least.” 

That’s right. Algonquin’s a fine place to have 
in the background of one’s life, but it’s rather small 
for any expansion. Did you know I’ve had an eye 
on you since you were up north last winter? ” 

“ On me? ” cried Roderick amazed. 

‘‘ Yes, just on you.” The portly figure shook with a 
good humoured amusement at the young man’s modest 
amazement. “ I heard about you from my brother 
and then from Kent. Let me see, I suppose there 
will be high doings all day to-day. What about to- 
morrow? Could I see you for a little talk to-morrow 
morning? ” 

Roderick set the hour for the appointment, silently 
wondering. His heart was throbbing with expecta- 
tion, vague, wonderful. Some great event was surely 
pending. He went home that night, full of high ex- 
pectations. When he made a great success of his life 
and came back to Algonquin, rich and with a name, 
he would go to her and show her he had been right, 
and she had been wrong. 


CHAPTER XII 


“ THE MELODY DEADEN’d ” 

^ ^ A ND you don’t mean to tell me you were 
/_% such a fool as to say he might go? ” J. 

A m P. Thornton, walking up the hill for the 
fourth time on the way home from a session meeting 
with Lawyer Ed, asked the question again in an ex- 
tremity of indignation. 

And Lawyer Ed answered as he had done each time 
before : 

“I couldn’t stand in the boy’s way. Jack; I just 
couldn’t.” 

They had argued the question for an hour, up and 
down the hills between their two homes, and had come 
to no agreement. That Roderick had had an offer 
to tempt any young man there was no doubt. A 
partnership in the firm of Elliot and Kent, solicitors 
for the British North American Transcontinental 
Railroad, was such a chance as came the way of 
few at his age. 

And yet Mr. Thornton declared that he should 
have refused it unconditionally. Not so Lawyer Ed; 
his generous heart condoned the boy. 

“ It’s the chance of a life-time. Jack,” he declared. 

255 


256 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


“ It would be shameful to keep him out of it, and, 
mind you, he wouldn’t say he would go until I urged 
it.” 

‘‘ Oh, blow him ! ” J. P. was a very dignified 
gentleman and did not revert to his boyhood’s slang 
except under extreme provocation. “ He shouldn’t 
have allowed you to urge him. And what about the 
brilliant prospect you gave up once just because his 
father was in need.? ” 

“ Well, never mind that,” said Lawyer Ed, hur- 
riedly. “ He doesn’t know anything about that and 
he’s not going to either.” 

‘‘ And it was Bill Graham who wanted you, and 
you wouldn’t go. And now Bill’s taking him away 
from you. He ought to be ashamed ! ” 

“ Bill thought he was doing me a kindness. He 
knew Rod’s success is mine.” 

J. P. was silent from sheer exhaustion of all sane 
argument. He was grieved and bitterly disap- 
pointed for his friend’s sake. Ed was in imperative 
need of a rest and just when life was looking a little 
easier to him, and the long-deferred holiday was 
within reach, Roderick was deserting. 

If they could only have visited the Holy Land 
before he left, it would not have seemed so bad. But 
though Roderick had consented to remain until his 
chief returned. Lawyer Ed had felt he could not go, 
for he must busy himself gathering up the threads 
of his work which he had been dropping with such 
relief. 


‘‘THE MELODY DEADEN’D” 257 


Roderick had not come to his final decision without 
much argument with himself. His head said Go, 
but he could not quite convince his heart that he was 
right in leaving Lawyer Ed so soon. He had argued 
the question with himself during many sleepless 
nights, but the lure of success had proved the 
stronger. And he was going late in the autumn to 
lake up his new work. 

To Old Angus the news was like the shutting out 
of the light of day. Roderick was going away. At 
first that was all he could comprehend. But he did 
not for one moment lose his sublime faith either in 
his boy or in his God. The Lord’s hand was in it 
all, he told himself. He was leading the Lad out into 
larger service and his father must not stand in the 
way. He said not one word of his own loss, but 
was deeply concerned over Lawyer Ed’s. He was 
worried lest the Lad’s going might mean business dif- 
ficulties for his friend. 

“ If the Father will be wanting the Lad, Edward,” 
he said one golden autumn afternoon, when Lawyer 
Ed stopped at the farm gate in passing, “ then we 
must not be putting our little wills in His way. I 
would not be minding for myself, oh, no, not at all — ” 
the old man’s smile was more pathetic than tears. 
“ The dear Lord will be giving me so many children 
on the Jericho Road, that He feels I can spare 
Roderick.” 

Eddie Perkins was stumbling about the lane trying 
to rake up the dead leaves into neat piles as Angus 


^58 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


had instructed him. He came whimpering up with 
a bruised finger which he held up to the old man. 
Angus comforted him tenderly, telling him Eddie must 
be a man and not mind a little scratch. He looked 
down at this most helpless of his children and gently 
stroked the boy’s misshapen head. 

‘‘ Yes, He would be very kind, giving me so many 
of His little ones to care for, and He feels I can 
spare Roderick. The Lad is strong — ” his voice fal- 
tered a moment, but he went on bravely. 

But it was you I was thinking of, Edward. I 
could not but be fearing that you were making a 
great sacrifice. There is your visit to the Holy Land 
t — and the business. It will be hard for you^ 
Edward.?” 

Lawyer Ed, seated in his mud-splashed buggy at 
th^ gate, turned quickly away, the anxiety in Old 
Angus’s voice was almost too much for his tender 
heart. There was a wistful plea in it that he should 
vindicate Roderick from a shadow of suspicion. He 
jerked his horse’s head violently and demanded 
angrily what in thunder it meant by trying to eat 
all the grass off the roadside like a fool of an old 
cow, and then he rose valiantly to the Lad’s defence. 

“ Hut, tut, Angus ! ” he cried blusteringly. 

Such nonsense ! You know as well as I do that the 
Lad didn’t want to leave. I fairly drove him away. 
Pshaw ! never mind the Holy Land. We’re all 
journeying to it together, anyway. And as for my 
business — somebody else’ll turn up. I always felt 


‘VTHE MELODY DEADEN’D’^ ^59 


Algonquin would be too small for Rod. You’ll see 
he’ll make a name for himself that’ll make us all 
proud.” 

He did it splendidly, and Angus was comforted. 
He blamed himself for what he termed his lack of 
faith in the boy and in his Father. And many a 
night, as he sat late by his fire, trying to reason 
himself into cheerful resignation, he recalled Ed- 
ward’s words hopefully. Yes, he surely ought to be 
proud and glad that the Lad was going out into a 
wider service. He was leaving him alone, on his 
Jericho Road, here, but that was only because the 
Father needed him for a busier highway, where 
thieves were crueller and more numerous. 

As the autumn passed and the time for leaving 
approached, the Lad ran out very often to the farm. 
His visits were a constantly increasing source of dis- 
comfort — ^both to heart and conscience. His father’s 
gallant attempts at cheerfulness, and his sublime 
assurance that his son was going away to do a 
greater work for the Master stung Roderick to the 
quick. That Master, whom he had long ago left 
out of his life’s plan, had said, “Ye cannot serve' 
God and Mammon.” And from even the little Rod- 
erick had seen of the affairs of Elliot and Kent, he 
knew only too well that to serve that firm and hu- 
manity at the same time would be impossible. 

There were others who did not possess his father’s 
faith in his purpose, and they spoke to him plainly 
on the matter. J. P. Thornton, remembering indig- 


^60 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


nantly all that Lawyer Ed had once given up for 
Old Angus’s sake, and further maddened by being 
forbidden to disclose it, expressed his disapproval of 
Roderick’s leaving so soon, in strong incisive terms. 

His remarks succeeded only in angering the young 
man, and making him more determined in his course. 
Doctor Leslie was the next to speak plainly on the 
matter, and his kindly, deep-searching words were 
harder to set aside. Roderick was passing the Manse 
one day when Mammy Viney hailed him. 

Honey, de minesta’ want you,” she called, in her 
soft rich tones. “ An’ you’se gwine away, an’ 
leavin’ you ole Auntie Kirsty,” she said reproach- 
fully, as he came up the steps and shook hands with 
her. 

“ But you wouldn’t want me to stay and bother 
Aunt Kirsty in the kitchen all my life, now, would 
you. Mammy Viney I thought men were a nuisance 
there.” 

Men’s jus’ a trouble eberywhar,” she said 
sternly. “ Dat Mahogany Bill he was jus’ like all 
de res’, an’ here you doin’ de same, goin’ off an’ leakin’ 
folks in de lurch, with all de hard work to do. I’se 
shame of you — dat I is ! ” 

Roderick laughed good-naturedly, as he followed 
her into the house, but Mammy Viney tossed her 
head. ‘‘ Eberybody say dat it pretty mean o’ you, 
anyhow,” she said with the air of one who could tell 
a great deal if she wished. “ ’Deed dey’s sayin’ dat 
you no business make Lawya Ed stay home ! ” 


‘‘THE MELODY DEADEN’D” 261 


Roderick did not wait to hear any more of what 
Algonquin was saying about him. Mammy Viney 
rather enjoyed recounting such remarks, and never 
took one jot or one tittle from that which she passed 
along. 

Doctor Leslie met him at the study door, with out- 
stretched hands. “ Now tell me all about this going 
away scheme,” he said ; and Roderick told him 
eagerly, about the brilliant prospects ahead of him, 
and when he finished there was the implied question 
in the boy’s eyes. Would he not be blind to his and 
every one’s best interests to remain in Algonquin in 
the face of such inducements.?^ 

Doctor Leslie sat and looked out at the orchard 
trees, with their wealth of red and gold apples falling 
with soft thuds upon the grass. How often had that 
question come to him in his youth, and when he had 
examined his own heart and his reasons for obeying 
the call to go away, he had been compelled to remain. 

He saw Roderick’s position, and sympathised with 
the youthful longing to be away and to do great 
deeds ; but he was afraid the way had not yet truly 
opened up into which Angus McRae’s son could step. 
He had learned, in the year Roderick had spent in 
Algonquin, that the young man was not vitally in- 
terested in the things that are eternal. His outlook 
on life was not his father’s. The minister felt im- 
pelled to speak plainly. 

“ I feel sure,” he said slowly, turning his eyes from 
the garden, and letting them rest kindly upon the 


262 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


bay’s frank face, I feel sure, Roderick, that no 
young man who lacks ambition will be of much use 
to the world. But ambition is a dangerous guide 
alone. If you are anxious to make the best of your 
life, my boy, the Lord will open the way to great 
opportunities. But the time and the way will be 
plainly shown. If this is a door of greater oppor- 
tunity, then enter it, and God give you great and 
large blessing. But if you are leaving with any 
doubts as to its being the right course, if you fear 
that there are other obligations you must yet fulfil, 
then I charge you to examine your heart carefully, 
lest you fight against God. It is no use trying to 
do that. One day or other His love will hedge us 
about. If it cannot draw us into the way it meets 
us on the Damascus Road and blinds us with its 
light. But some of us miss the best of life before 
that happens. Don’t lose the way. Lad ; your father 
instructed you well in it.” 

For days the warning followed Roderick, torment- 
ing him. He dared not examine his motives care- 
fully, lest he find them false. He was out on life’s 
waters, paddling hard for the gleam of gold, and he 
had no time to stop and consider whither it was lead- 
ing him. It might vanish while he lingered. 

There was another person whose opinion he was 
anxious to get on this vexed question. He won- 
dered every waking hour what she would think of 
his going. Perhaps she didn’t think about it at 
all, he speculated miserably. He still continued to 


‘‘THE MELODY DEADEN’D” S63 


waylay her in Willow Lane, as he went to and from 
home, and one evening he ran upon his poor rival, 
Afternoon Tea Willie, doing the same sentinel duty. 

Roderick had been home for supper and was re- 
turning to the office early to do some left over work, 
when he overtook him slowly walking towards Algon- 
quin. 

“ Good evening, Mr. Roderick,” he said in a mel- 
ancholy tone. May I walk into town with you.? ” 

Roderick slackened his stride to suit the young 
man. He was rather impatient at having to endure 
his company, but he soon changed his mind, for Al- 
fred was in a confidential mood. 

“ I might as well go home,” he said gloomily. 
“ She’s gone.” 

“ Who’s gone ? ” asked Roderick perversely. 

“ Why, Miss Murray. She slipped away some- 
how, and I don’t know how she did it. But I’ve 
waited down here for her for the last time.” He 
choked for a moment, then continued firmly. 
“ She’s showed me plainly she doesn’t want me, and 
I’m too proud to force my company upon her.” 

Roderick did not know what to say; he wanted 
to laugh, but it was impossible to keep just a little 
of the fellow-feeling that makes us wondrous kind 
from creeping into his heart. 

“ Well, it’s too bad,” he said at last. “ But if 
she doesn’t want you, of course there is only one 
thing for you to do.” 

“ I have been faithful to her for a year,” said 


264 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


the rejected lover. “ I never before was attentive 
to any lady, no matter how charming, for that length 
of time, and she needn’t have treated me that way.” 

The subject was the most interesting one in the 
world to Roderick, and he could not resist encourag- 
ing the young man to go on. 

And poor Afternoon Tea Willie, unaccustomed to 
a sympathetic hearing, poured out all his long heart- 
ache. 

“ I am telling you this in strict confidence you 
know, Roderick,” he said. “ It is such a relief to 
tell some one and it seems right I should tell you 
the end of this sad romance, for you helped me and 
were kind to me at its very beginning.” He paused 
for a moment, to reflect sadly on his disappointed 
hopes. 

You may be sure your confidence will never be 
betrayed,” said Roderick, and murmuring his grati- 
tude the young man went on. 

“ It was Miss Annabel Armstrong who put her 
against me from the first, I feel sure, though I must 
never bear a grudge against a lady. But you know, 
Roderick ( I know you will never betray a confidence) , 
Miss Annabel hates me. I proposed to her once, 
shortly after I came to Algonquin. It was just a 
mad infatuation on my part, not love at all. I did 
not know then what real love was. But Miss Anna- 
bel — well, she is a lady — ^but I, I really couldn’t tell 
you what she said to me when I oflTered her all a man 
could, my heart and my hand and all my property. 


‘‘THE MELODY DEADEN’D” S65 

It was awful! I really sometimes wake up in the 
night yet and think about it. And she never forgave 
me. And I don’t know why.” He paused and drew 
a deep breath at the remembrance. 

“ And I know she poisoned Miss Murray’s mind 
against me — but I shan’t hold a grudge against a 
lady. Now, Miss Murray herself was so gentle and 
kind when she refused me — ^what? I — I didn’t mean 
any harm.” For his sympathetic listener had 
turned upon him. 

“ How dared you do such a thing. ” Roderick 
cried indignantly. 

“ I just couldn’t help it,” wailed Alfred. “ You 
couldn’t yourself now, Roderick ; ” and Roderick was 
forced to confess inwardly that likely he couldn’t. 

“ Well, never mind, go on,” he said, all unabashed 
that he was taking advantage of the poor young 
man merely to be able to hear something about her. 

“ I just couldn’t help it. But I only asked her 
twice and the first time she refused so nicely, I 
thought perhaps she’d change her mind. I never 
heard any one refuse a — person — so — so sweetly and 
kindly. But this last time was unmistakable, and 
I feel as if it were all over. I am not going to be 
trampled upon any more.” 

“ That’s right,” said Roderick. “ Just brace up 
and never mind; you’ll soon get over it.” 

The young man shook his head. “ I shall never 
be the same,” he said. “But I have pride. I am 
not going to let her see that she has made a wreck 


S66 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


of my life. But I thought she might have had more 
sympathy when she had had a sorrow like that her- 
self.’’ 

Roderick felt his resentment rising. He did not 
mind listening to poor Alfred’s love stories, but he 
did not want to hear hers discussed. But before he 
could Interrupt, Alfred was saying something that 
held his attention and made him long for more. 

But she is all over that now. She told me her- 
self.” 

‘‘All over what.?^” Roderick could not hold the 
question back. 

“ Caring about the young man she was engaged 
to. There was a young man named Richard Wells 
in Toronto, you know, and they were engaged. 
When she was away for her holidays last summer, 
I was so lonesome I just couldn’t stand it, so I wrote 
to my cousin Flossy Wilbur and asked her to find 
out how she was or her address or something. And 
Flossy wrote such a comforting letter and said she 
was staying with her married brother, Norman Mur- 
ray — ^he lives on Harrington Street, and Floss lives 
just a couple of blocks away on a beautiful ave- 
nue — ” 

“What were you saying about Wells.?” Roderick 
interrupted. 

“ Flossy knows him and told me all about it. I 
had a letter just last week. He met another girl 
he liked better — no, that couldn’t be true, nobody 
who OBc® saw her could care for any one else, I am 


^‘THE MELODY DEADEN’D’^ 267 


sure. But this other girl was rich, and so he broke 
the engagement. If I ever meet that manf” Aft- 
ernoon Tea Willie stood on the side-walk, the elec- 
tric light shining through the autumn leaves making 
a golden radiance about his white face. “ If I ever 
meet that man I — I shall certainly treat him with the 
coldest contempt, Roderick. I wouldn^t speak to' 
him!’^ 

But you said she didn’t care,” suggested Rod- 
erick impatiently. 

‘‘ Not now. But Flossy said her poor little heart 
must have been broken at first, though she did not 
show it. She came up to Algonquin right away. I 
saw her on board the Inverness the day she cam« 
and I knew then — ” 

“ How do you know she doesn’t care about 
Wells.?” 

Oh, when Flossy wrote me that last week, I went 
to see her at the school — ^I don’t dare go to Rose- 
mount — and I asked her to forgive me for propos- 
ing to her. I told her, or at least I hinted at the 
tragedy in her life, and I said I wanted to beg her 
pardon on my knees for troubling her as I had done, 
— and that I couldn’t forgive myself. Oh, she just 
acted like an angel — there is no other word to de- 
scribe her. She asked me at first how I found out 
and then she said so sweetly and gently, that she 
thanked me for my consideration. And then, just 
because she was so good — I did it again! I really 
didn’t mean it, but before I knew what I was doing. 


268 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


I was asking her again if there was any hope for 
me. And, oh dear ! oh dear ! she said ‘ no ’ again. 
Gave me not the least hope. I was so overcome — ■ 
you don’t know how a man feels about such things, 
Roderick. I was so overcome I burst out and said 
I felt just as if I would have given all I possessed to 
meet that Wells man. I said I could just treat him 
with the coldest contempt if I ever met him on the 
street. And she answered so sweetly that I must 
not worry on her account. She said she had cared 
once, but that was all over, and that she was glad 
now that it had been so. And she added — and I 
don’t see hew any one with such eyes could be so 
cruel — she said I must never, never speak of such a 
subject to her again, and that if I ever did she would 
not let me even come near her. So it’s all over with 
me. I am not going to follow her about any more. 
I have still been coming down to WiUow Lane, but 
I am coming no more after to-night. This is the 
end ! ” 

They had reached the office door and paused. 
Roderick’s sympathy seemed to have suddenly van- 
ished. In the very face of the other young man’s 
despair, he turned upon him ruthlessly. 

“ That’s a wise resolution, Alf,” he said dis- 
tinctly. “ And I’m going to advise you strongly to 
stick to it. You keep the width of the town be- 
tween you and Miss Murray from now on, do you 
understand.? ” 

“What — ^whatever do you mean.?” stammered the 


“THE MELODY DEADEN’D’" 269 


boy, aghast at the cruelty of one who had seemed a 
friend. 

“ Just what I say. On your own showing, you’ve 
been tormenting her; and — I — well, I won’t have it 
— that’s all. I feel sure you have the good sense 
to stick to your resolution,” his tone was a trifle 
kindlier, ‘‘ and for your own sake I hope you do. If 
not, look out ! ” He made a significant gesture, that 
made the other jump out of his way in terror. “ And 
look here, Alf,” he added. If you tell any soul in 
Algonquin that Miss Murray was engaged to any 
one I’ll — I’ll murder you. Do you hear.f’ ” 

He ran up the steps and into the office. And the 
cruellest part of it all to poor Afternoon Tea Willie, 
as the door slammed in his face leaving him alone in 
the darkness, was that he could hear his false friend 
whistling merrily. 

Roderick felt like whistling in the days that fol- 
lowed. He had found out something he had been 
longing to know for over a year. He did not have 
to stay away from her now. And the very next 
evening he marched straight up to Rosemount and 
asked to see Miss Murray. She was out, much to 
his disappointment, but the next Sunday he met her 
as they were leaving the church. And she expressed 
her regret so kindly that he was once more filled 
with hope. He had stood watching for her while 
his father paused for a word with Dr. Leslie, but as 
usual he had been joined by Alexander Graham and 
his daughter. There was a subtle air of triumph 


270 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


about the man, ever since Roderick had decided to 
go to Montreal, an air almost of proprietorship es- 
pecially noticeable when Lawyer Ed was about. 

“ Good morning, Rod,” he said genially. All 
packed yet? ” 

Not quite,” said Roderick shortly. He winced, 
for the thought of the actual parting with his father 
was a subject upon which he did not care to speak. 

“ I don’t believe you are a bit sorry you are 
going,” said Leslie, shaking the heavy plumes of her 
velvet hat at him, and pouting, for never a regret had 
he expressed to her. 

“ I actually believe you’re glad. And I don’t 
blame you. I’d be just jumping for joy if I were 
going. It’s a dreadfully dull little place here, in 
the winter especially.” 

He looked at her in surprise. It was so unlike 
her to express discontent. She had always seemed 
so happy. ‘‘Why, I thought you couldn’t be ever 
induced to live any other place,” he cried in sur- 
prise. 

“ The idea ! I wish somebody’d try me ! ” she 
flashed out the answer, with just the faintest empha- 
sis on a significant word. 

Roderick looked down at her again in wonder, to 
see her eyes droop, her colour deepen. They passed 
down the church steps, side by side; her father 
dropped behind with Dr. Blair, and they were left 
alone together. Roderick, always shy in a young 
woman’s presence, was overcome with a vague feel- 


‘‘THE MELODY DEADEN’D” 271 


ing of dismay, which he did not at all understand and 
which rendered him speechless. 

He was relieved when Miss Annabel Armstrong, 
with a girlish skip, came suddenly to her niece’s side. 
“ Good morning, Mr. Roderick McRae. Good morn- 
ing, niecy dear! Come here a moment and walk 
with me, Leslie darling. I want to ask you some- 
thing.” She slipped her arm into the girl’s and drew 
her back. “ Here, Mr. McRae, you walk by Miss 
Murray, just for a moment, please.” 

She shoved Helen forward into Leslie’s place, and 
pulling her niece close, whispered fiercely. 

“ You are a young idiot, Leslie Graham ! I heard 
Mrs. Captain Willoughby and the Baldwin girls 
laughing and talking about you just this minute as 
they came out of church. I am just deadly ashamed. 
How can we ever keep our position in society if you 
act so? Anna Baldwin said you were simply throw- 
ing yourself at that young McRae’s head — and his 
father a common farmer 1 And his Aunt! ” 

The girl jerked her arm from Miss Annabel’s 
grasp, her eyes and cheeks blazing. “ Anna Bald- 
win is crazy about him herself 1 ” she cried violently. 
“ And she’s made a fool of herself more times than- 
I can tell! And his father is far better than your 
father ever was, or mine either!” She stopped as 
some one looked at her in passing. “ I shall just do 
exactly as I please. Aunt Annabel Armstrong,” she 
added determinedly. “ It’s just like an old maid to 
be always interfering in other people’s affairs ! ” 


^72 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


Miss Annabel turned white with anger. She was 
proud of her niece, and jet she almost disliked her. 
Leslie, young and gay and successful, the inheritor 
of everything for which her aunt had scrimped and 
striven and hungered all her life and never attained, 
was a constant source of irritation and discontent to 
Miss Annabel. Her heart and hopes were as young 
as Leslie’s, and she was forced to find herself pushed 
aside into the place of age, while this radiant girl 
walked all unheeding into everything that her girl- 
hood should have been. And this intimation con- 
cerning her age and estate was unbearable. She 
grew intensely quiet. 

“ Leslie,” she said, “ you may heed me or not as 
you wish. But if you had eyes in your head, you 
would see for yourself that that young man doesn’t 
care the snap of his finger for you and all your 
money. He’s madly in love with Helen Murray. 
He’s always hanging about Rosemount!” she added, 
growing reckless. “ He was there only last night. 
Just look at him now!” 

The startled eyes of the girl obeyed. Roderick 
was walking beside Helen Murray, and looking down 
at her with the joy of her presence shining in his 
face. He was not schooled in hiding his feelings, and 
his eyes told his secret so plainly that Leslie Gra- 
ham could not but read. 

She said not another word. They had reached a 
corner and she suddenly left her aunt and walked 
swiftly homeward alone. She had had a revelation. 


‘‘THE MELODY DEADEN’D’’ 273 


For a long time she had suspected and feared. Now 
she knew. In all her gay thoughtless life she had 
never wanted anything very badly that she had not 
been able to get. Now, the one thing she wanted most, 
the thing which had all unconsciously become the 
supreme desire of her life, she had learned in one 
flash was already another’s. She was as certain of 
it as though Roderick had proclaimed his feelings 
from the church pulpit. Her thoughts ran swiftly 
back over the months of their acquaintance and 
picked up here and there little items of remembrance 
that should have shown her earlier the true state of 
things. She was forced to confess that not once had 
he shown her any slightest preference, except as her 
father’s daughter. And yet she had refused to look 
and listen. And then, upon knowledge, came shame 
and humiliation and rage at finding she had boldly 
proffered herself and was found undesirable. It 
was the birth of her woman’s heart. The happy, 
careless girl’s heart was dying, and the new life did 
not come without much anguish of soul. 

As soon as she could escape from the dinner table 
she fled to her room to face this dread thing which 
had come upon her. All undisciplined and unused 
to pain, through her mother’s careless indulgence, 
entirely pagan, too, for her religious experience had 
been but one of form, the girl met this crisis in her 
life alone. 

At first the smarting sense of her humiliation pre- 
dominated and her heart cried for recompense. She 


274 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


would show him what would happen if he dared set 
her aside. Well she knew she could injure Rod- 
erick’s chances for success if she set her mind to the 
task; for was it not her influence that had helped to 
give him those chances? 

The force of her anger drove her to action. She 
threw on her plumed hat and her velvet coat, and 
slipping out unseen, walked swiftly out of the town 
and up the lake shore. Every little breeze from the 
waters sent a shower of golden leaves dropping about 
her. But the air was still in the woods. It was a 
perfect autumn day, a true Sabbath day in Nature’s 
world, with everything in a beautiful state of rest 
after labour. The bronze oaks, the yellow elms and 
the crimson maples along the shore, now and then 
dropped a jewel too heavy to be held into the col- 
oured waters beneath. The tower of the little In- 
dian church across the lake pointed a silver finger 
up out of a soft blue haze. The whole world seemed 
at peace, in contrast to the tumult within the girl’s 
untrained heart. 

She seated herself on a fallen log beside the water, 
the warm, hazy sunshine falling through the golden 
branches upon her. And sitting there, she felt the 
spirit of the serene day steal over hers. Wiser and 
nobler thoughts came to her sorely tried young heart. 
Some strong unknown Spirit rose up within her and 
demanded that she do what was right. It was her 
only guide, she could not reason with it, but she 
blindly obeyed. There would be long days of pain 


‘‘THE MELODY DEADEN’D” S75 


and hard struggle ahead of her, she well knew, but 
the Spirit heeded them not at all. She must do what 
was right. She must act the strong, the womanly 
part, let the future bring what it would. 

And she went back from the soft rustling peace of 
the woods, not a careless, selfishly happy girl any 
more, but a strong, steady-purposed woman. 

Roderick was so busy and happy during the en- 
suing week that he had almost forgotten the existence 
of Miss Leslie Graham, when she was brought to his 
dismayed senses by the sound of her voice over the 
telephone. 

“ Tra-la-la-la, Mr. Roderick McRae,” she sang out 
in her merriest voice. “ Why don’t you come round 
and say good-bye to your friends Are you going 
to fold your tent like the Arabs and silently steal 
away ? ” 

Roderick began to stammer out an explanation, 
but she cut him off gaily. 

“ Don’t apologise, you are going to be punished 
for your sins,” she called laughingly. “ For you 
can’t come now. I am oif to-day to Toronto with 
Aunt Annabel. We took a sudden notion we wanted 
to go to the city. We’re going to spend a whole 
month in a riotous purchasing of autumn hats. So, 
as I am a good meek and forgiving person and as 
you’ll be gone before we get back I just thought I’d 
say ‘ Bon Voyage ’ to you before I leave.” 

She talked so fast that Roderick had scarcely any 
chance to reply. He tried to stammer out his thanks to 


^76 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


her for her kindness, but she laughingly interrupted 
him. It was quite too bad they couldn’t say good- 
bye, Daddy would do that for her. But Mamma 
was coming to Toronto with them. They were 
both dreadfully sorry and Mamma sent her best re- 
gards. They all hoped he’d have a lovely time, and 
come home very rich; and before he could answer, 
she had called a gay ‘‘ Good-bye and good-luck,” and 
had rung off. 

Roderick was conscious of a slight feeling of sur- 
prise, and a decided feeling of relief. 

She’s a great girl,” he said to himself admir- 
ingly. “ She’s just a splendid good friend and a 
brick, and I’ll write and tell her so I ” 

And he had no idea of how very much she merited 
his praise. 

As the time for leaving approached, Roderick 
grew busier every day. It was hard to get Lawyer 
Ed in the office long enough to settle things. He 
was striving to take up the burden of his old work 
again cheerfully, but the new civic and social and 
church duties he had assumed in the year were hard 
to drop. Then the Local Option campaign was at 
its height and demanded his attention. 

To Roderick, and to most of the town people, he 
seemed to be shouldering all his old burdens with his 
usual energy and light-heartedness, but J. P. missed 
a familiar note of joyousness in his tone, and Archie 
Blair noticed that Ed did not go up the steps of his 
office in one leap now as he had always done, but 


‘‘THE MELODY DEADEN’D’" OT 


walked up like other people. But to the casual ob- 
server, Lawyer Ed was the same. He was here, there 
and everywhere, making sure that this one and that 
was going to vote the right way. And Roderick, 
watching him, remembered how anxious he had been 
over the effect the campaign would have upon his 
business. And now that he was not required to enter 
it, he often longed to plunge in and help his friend 
to victory. 

On the whole, the campaign helped Lawyer Ed 
materially, in the hard days preceding the parting 
with his boy. After all, there was nothing so dear 
to his Irish heart as a fight, and the rounding up of 
his troops before the battle kept him busy and happy. 
And everything was pointing to victory. Father 
Tracy had promised to see to it that his flock voted 
the right way, and Jock McPherson had declared 
himself on the side of the temperance cause. What- 
ever Lawyer Ed may have had to do with influencing 
his fellow Irishmen, he could take no credit for Jock’s 
conversion. He had set out to interview the Mc- 
Pherson one night after a session meeting, but for- 
tunately J. P. Thornton prevented his impetuous 
friend making the mistake of approaching the elder 
on that difficult subject. Jock was still feeling a 
little dour over the temperance question and the wise 
Englishman knew that whichever side of the cause 
was presented first that was the side to which the 
McPherson was most likely to object. 

“ Leave him to the other fellows, Ed,” advised his 


278 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


friend. “ They are almost certain to work their own 
destruction.” 

He was right ; for not a week later Lawyer Ed came 
up the steps of the Thornton home, staggering with 
laughter, to report that Jock was as staunch on the 
temperance question as Dr. Leslie himself, and to ex- 
plain how it came about. 

As J. P. had prophesied, Jock had come over to 
their side because a particularly offensive person in- 
terested in the liquor business, had claimed him as a 
friend. It had happened on the Saturday afternoon 
before. Jock was down town, standing on the side- 
walk in front of Crofter’s hotel discussing the bad 
state of the roads with a farmer friend, when Mr. 
Crofter came forth, and after introducing the sub- 
ject of Local Option in a friendly fashion, said: 

“ Well, sir, I’m glad to see one good Presbyterian 
who hasn’t gone off his head over this tom-foolery.” 
Here he made the fatal mistake of slapping Mr. Mc- 
Pherson on the shoulder. “ It does me good to see 
a man who isn’t a fanatic, but can take a glass and 
leave it alone, and give every other fellow the same 
privilege.” 

“ Yus.” Jock drew in his breath with a peculiar 
snuffing sound that would have warned any one who 
knew him well that there was danger in the air. 

Yus,” he repeated the word very slowly, ‘‘ and take 
another glass, and leave it alone.” 

“ What did you say .? ” enquired Mr. Crofter, a 


‘‘THE MELODY DEADEN’D” 279 


little puzzled. “ I don’t think I quite caught you, 
Mr. McPherson.” 

“ I would be thinking,” said Jock with dreadful 
deliberation, “ that it must be a grand sight, but I 
nuffer saw one.” 

“ Never saw what.? ” 

“ A man that could take a glass and leave it alone. 
He always took it.” 

Mr. Crofter went back into the hotel with some- 
thing of the feeling of a baseball player who has 
made a mighty swing with his bat and missed. 

And Jock informed Dr. Leslie the next day that 
he had intended all along to vote for Local Option, 
but had omitted to say so earlier. The case of 
Father Tracy had brought even greater joy. One 
day Mike Cassidy came raging into Lawyer Ed’s 
office with the tale of another fight with his enemies 
the Duffys, and the information that he was going 
to court with it this time if he died for it. Rod- 
erick was out, and on the pretence that he must con- 
sult his young partner, Lawyer Ed managed to get 
Mike to consider the matter for an hour, and in the 
interval he went to see Father Tracy. 

The Catholic priest and the Presbyterian elder 
were good friends, for his reverence was a jolly Irish- 
man, very proud of his title of the “ Protestant 
Priest.” It was whispered that he was not in favour 
in ecclesiastical circles, but little cared he, for he was 
in the highest favour with everybody in Algonquin, 


280 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


especially those in need, and the hero o'f every boy 
who could wave a lacrosse stick. 

“ Good momln’, Father O’Flynn,” cried Lawyer 
Ed, as, swinging his cane, he was ushered into the 
priest’s sanctum. ‘‘ Sure and I suppose it’s yer 
owld job ye’re at — 

“ Checkvn^ the crazy ones, urgin* the aisy ones. 

Helpin’ the lazy ones on wid a stick.” 

It is that, then,” said Father Tracy, his blue 
eyes dancing. And here’s wan o’ the crazy ones. 
Sit ye down, man, till I finish this note, and I’ll be 
checkin’ ye all right. I’ll not be a minute.” 

Lawyer Ed of course could not sit down, but wan- 
dered about the room examining the pictures on the 
wall, a few photographs of popes and cardinals. 

“ Sure this is a terrible place for a heretic like me 
to be in. Father,” he exclaimed. “ Oi’m getting 
clane narvous. If it wasn’t called a Presbytry, I’d 
niver dare venture. It’s got a good name. By the 
way, I don’t see John Knox here,” he added, anx- 
iously examining the cardinals again. 

Father Tracy’s pen signed his name with a flour- 
ish. “ You’ll see John Knox soon enough if ye 
don’t mend your ways, Edward Brians,” he said. 
“ Now, what do ye want of me this morning.? ” But 
the two Irishmen could not let such a good joke pass 
unnoticed; when they had laughed over It duly, the 
business was stated. 

“ He’]] go to no law,” said the shepherd of this 


‘^THE MELODY DEADEN’D” 281 


wayward sKeep. I’ll see him to-night, and It’s 
grateful I am to you, Edward, for your Interest. I 
hear the boys are getting together to see about a 
junior league. Algonquin ought to get the cham- 
pionship this year — ” 

But Lawyer Ed knew better than to let Father 
Tracy get off onto the subject of lacrosse. “ I 
wish Algonquin would take the championship vote 
for Local Option next January, Father,” he said 
tentatively. He waited, but Father Tracy said 
nothing. He was not so much noted for his leanings 
towards teetotalism as towards lacrosse. 

‘‘ It would keep Mike Cassidy straight,” ventured 
the visitor again. 

‘‘ I can keep Mike Cassidy straight without the 
aid of any such heretic props,” said Father Tracy, 
looking decidedly grim. 

Lawyer Ed burst out laughing. “ ’Pon me word 
you’re right,” he exclaimed. ‘‘ Man, I wish some- 
times that our Protestant priests had the power that 
you have. But I’m not here to urge you, mind that. 
I’m not such a fool as to go down to the Rainy 
Rapids and try to turn them back with a pebble. 
But I just thought I might as well ask you what your 
opinion was, when I was here. A great many people 
of your flock tell me they will vote just as the Father 
tells them.” He glanced back at his host as he 
moved to the door. 

“ Yes, and they’d better,” said the Father. “ So 
you’d like to know what to say to them, eh? ” 


282 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 

I certainly would.” He waited anxiously. 

Father Tracy stood watching him go down the 
steps, his portly figure filling up the doorway, his 
good-natured face beaming. “ And if it’s news ye’re 
after I suppose ye’ll rest neither day nor night till ye 
get it.” 

« Not llhely.” 

“Well — ” Father Tracy was enjoying the other’s 
anxiety and was as deliberate as Jock McPherson — 
“ well, if you meet any of my stray sheep that look 
as if they were goin’ to vote for the whiskey, ye can 
tell them for me that I’d say mass for a dead dog 
before I’d meddle wid their lost souls.” 

Lawyer Ed went down the street, half a block at 
a stride, in the direction of J. P.’s office. 

Archie Blair’s horse and buggy were standing in 
front of a house next to the Catholic church. The 
temptation, combined with his desperate hurry, was 
too much. He leaped in and, without so much as 
“ By your leave,” he tore down the street and never 
drew rein until he fairly fell out of the vehicle in 
front of J. P.’s office. He burst in with the glorious 
news : “ I’ve got four hundred new votes promised me 

for local option. Hurrah! That’s better than go- 
ing to the Holy Land any day in the year I ” 

But when the day came at last that was to take 
Roderick from him, even Lawyer Ed’s love of battle 
failed him. It was a dreary day, with Nature in ac- 
cord with his gloom. A chill wind had blown all 
night from the north, lashing Lake Algonquin into 


‘‘THE MELODY DEADEN’D” 


foam and making the pines along the Jericho Road 
moan sadly. Early in the day the snow began to 
drive down from the north and by afternoon the 
roads were drifted. 

Roderick was to leave on the afternoon train for 
Toronto, and there take the night express for Mon- 
treal and he came into Algonquin in the morning, to 
bid his friends good-bye. The sudden change in the 
weather had, as usual, been accompanied by the re- 
turn of the old pain in his arm. It had been more 
frequent this autumn, but he had paid little heed to 
it. But to-day it added just the last burden re- 
quired to make him thoroughly miserable. Lawyer 
Ed was stamping about, complaining loudly of the 
cold, blowing his nose, and talking about everything 
and anything but Roderick’s pending departure. 
The Lad’s drooping spirits went lower at the sight 
of him. 

As he went about saying farewell he realised 
that he had not known how many friends he had 
made. Alexander Graham was full of expressions 
of congratulation and good-will. 

“You must make good. Rod, my boy,” he said. 

We’ll be watching you, you know, and of course 
the blame will fall on me if you don’t. But I have 
no fears.” He laughed in a patronising way that 
made Roderick feel very small indeed. 

“ I’m so sorry you couldn’t come up again. The 
wife and Leslie took a sudden notion that they must 
go to Toronto for a month — or Leslie took it rather, 


^84 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


and made her mother and aunt go with her. I’m 
sorry they are not here — ^but they are in Toronto 
and you might — ” he paused knowingly, — I guess 
I don’t need to tell you where they are staying. Miss 
Leslie probably left her address.” He laughed in 
such an insinuating way that Roderick’s face grew 
crimson. 

“ No, Miss Graham did not give me her address,” 
he said, so stiffly that the man looked at him in wonder, 
then laughed again. This was some of Leslie’s non- 
sense, as usual, just to tease him. She had forced a 
little lover’s quarrel probably and gone without saying 
good-bye. But he knew Leslie could make it all right 
just when she chose. 

He parted from Roderick in quite a fatherly man- 
ner, but the young man went away feeling more 
uncomfortable and downhearted than ever. 

There was one person who seemed frankly glad to 
see him go. Mr. Fred Hamilton did not actually ex- 
press his joy, but he looked it, and Roderick felt 
something of the same feeling when they said good- 
bye, Dr. Leslie and several other old friends came 
next. Archie Blair had gone to the city to a medical 
congress, and he missed him. But he had bidden al- 
most every one else in Algonquin farewell when at last 
he sent his trunk to the station, and taking Lawyer 
Ed’s horse and cutter, drove out to the farm for the 
severest ordeal of that hard day. 

As he passed the school, the children came storm- 
ing out to their afternoon recess, pelting each other 


“THE MELODY DEADEN’D” g85 


with snowballs. Roderick hesitated a moment before 
the gate, but the wild onslaught of some fifty shrieking 
youngsters frightened the horse, and it dashed away 
down the road, so he decided to leave his farewell with 
her to the last. 

The bleak wind was sweeping down from the lake 
and the old board fence and the frail houses on Willow 
Lane creaked before it. The water roared up on the 
beach as he passed along the Pine Road, and the snow 
drove into his eyes and half blinded him. The Mc- 
DufF home was deserted. There was no track to the 
door through the snow, no smoke from the old broken 
chimney. Peter Fiddle was either out at the farm 
or down in the warm tavern on Willow Lane singing 
and playing. 

The dull pain in Roderick’s arm had increased to a 
steady ache that did not help to make the soreness of 
his heart any easier. The bare trees along the way 
creaked and moaned, cold grey clouds gathered and 
spread across the sky. 

Hitherto Roderick had felt nothing but impatience 
at the thought of staying in Algonquin all his life to 
watch Old Peter and Eddie Perkins and Mike Cassidy 
and their like, but now that the day had come for 
him to leave, it seemed as though everything was call- 
ing upon him to stay, every finger post pointing 
towards home. Doctor Leslie’s farewell, a warning to 
again consider. Lawyer Ed’s patient, cheery accept- 
ance of the situation, J. P. Thornton’s open disap- 
proval, Helen Murray’s smile the other evening at the 


^86 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


door of Rosemount, his father’s love and confidence 
in him, all pulled him back with strong hands. The 
rainbow gold shone but dimly that day, and he would 
fain have turned his back upon it for the sure chance 
of a life like his father’s in Algonquin. 

He found Old Angus watching for him at the win- 
dow. His brave attempts at cheerfulness made Rod- 
erick’s trial doubly hard. He bustled about, even 
trying to hum a tune, his old battle song, “ My Love, 
be on thy guard.” 

‘‘ I’ll be back before you know I’m gone. Auntie,” 
said the Lad, when Aunt Kirsty appeared and burst 
into tears at the sight of him. He tried to laugh as 
he said it, but he made but a feeble attempt. They 
sat by the fire, the Lad trying to talk naturally of 
his trip, his father making pathetic attempts to help 
him, and Aunt Kirsty crying silently over her knit- 
ting. At last, as Roderick glanced at the clock. Old 
Angus took out the tattered Bible from the cup-board 
drawer. It had always been the farewell ceremony in 
all the Lad’s coming and going, the reading of a few 
words of comfort and courage and a final prayer. 
Old Angus read, as he so often did when his son was 
leaving, the one hundred and thirty-ninth psalm, the 
great assurance that no matter how far one might go 
from home and loved ones, one might never go away 
from the presence of God. 

‘‘ If I ascend up into Heaven thou art there. If 
I make my bed in hell behold thou art there. If I 
take the wings of the morning and dwell in the utter- 


“THE MELODY DEADEN'D” 287 


most parts of the sea, even there shall thy hand lead 
me and thy right hand shdl uphold me.” 

The prayer was simple and direct, as were all Old 
Angus’s communions with his Father. He had come 
to-day to a place where the way was very puzzling, 
and Roderick, knowing him so well, understood why 
he prayed for himself, that he might not be troubled 
with the why of it all, but that he might know that 
God was guiding them all aright. But there was an 
anguished note in his voice new to the Lad, and one 
that made the pain in his heart grow almost unbear- 
able. He had heard that sound in his father’s voice 
once before ; and was puzzled to remember when. And 
then there came vividly to his heart’s ear, the 
cry that had rung out over the dark waters to 
him the night the little boy was lost. ‘‘ Roderick, my 
son, where are you? ” The father’s heart was utter- 
ing that cry now, and the son’s heart heard it. 
There were tears in the eyes of both men when they 
arose from their knees. 

Aunt Kirsty came to him for her farewell with a 
big bundle in her arms. It was done up carefully in 
a newspaper and tied with yam, and contained a 
huge lunch, composed of all the good things she had 
been able to cook in a day’s baking. Roderick felt 
as if he could not eat anything between home and 
Montreal, but he took the bulky parcel gratefully and 
tenderly. She put her arms about him, the tears 
streaming down her face, then fled from the room as 
fast as her ample size would permit, and gave vent 


288 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


to her grief in loud sobs and wails. Old Angus fol- 
lowed his son out to the cutter in the shed. He stum- 
bled a little. He seemed to have suddenly become 
aged and decrepit. It was not the physical parting 
that was weighing him down so heavily. Had Rod- 
erick been called to go as a missionary to some far-off 
land, as his father had so often dreamed in his 
younger days that he might, Old Angus would have 
sent him away with none of the foreboding which filled 
his heart to-day when he saw his boy leave to take a 
high position in the work of the world. 

Roderick caught the blanket off the horse, and as 
he did so his arm gave a sudden, sharp twinge. His 
face twisted. 

‘‘ Is it the old pain in your arm, Roderick, my 
son? ” his father asked anxiously. 

“ It’s nothing,” said the Lad lightly. “ It’ll be 
all right to-morrow.” 

“ You should see a doctor,” admonished his father. 
“ There will be great doctors in Montreal.” 

“ Perhaps I shall,” said the boy. Now, Father, 
don’t stand there in the cold ! ” He caught the old 
man’s hand in both his. Father 1 ” he cried sharply. 
“ I — oh — I feel I shouldn’t leave you ! ” 

“ Hoots, toots. Lad ! ” The man clapped him upon 
the back comfortingly. ‘‘You must not be saying 
that whatever. Indeed it’s a poor father I would be 
to want you always by me. No, no, you must go, 
but Roderick — ” 

“ Yes, Father.” 


“THE MELODY DEADEN’D’’ S89 


The old man’s face was pale and intense, “ You will 
not be leaving the Heavenly Father. Oh mind, mind 
and hold to Him I ” 

Roderick pressed his hand, and felt for the first 
time something of the utter bitterness of that road to 
success. “ I’ll try, Father,” he faltered. Oh, 1 
will!” 

He sprang into the cutter and took the lines, the 
old man put his hands for a moment on the Lad’s 
bowed head praying for a blessing upon him, and then 
the horse dashed out of the gate and away down the 
lane. At the turn Roderick looked back. His father 
was standing on the snowy threshold where he had 
left him, waving his cap. A yellow gleam of wintry 
sunlight through ragged clouds lit up his face, the 
wind fluttered his old coat and his silver hair, and, 
standing there in his loneliness, he was making a des- 
perate attempt at a smile that had more anguish in 
it than a rain of tears. 

Roderick drove swiftly down the snowy road, his 
eyes blinded. For one moment he hated success and 
money and fame and would have thrown them aU 
away to be able to go back to his father. WeU he 
knew the parting was more, far more than a temporal 
leave-taking. It was a departure from the old paths 
where his father had taught him to walk. 

As he sped along, his head down, he did not see a 
figure on the road ahead of him. He was almost upon 
it when he suddenly jerked his horse out of the way. 
It was Old Peter. Evidently he had drunk just 


^90 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


enough to make him tremendously polite. He stepped 
to the side of the road and bowed profoundly. 

Roderick made an attempt to pull up his horse and 
say good-bye. A sudden impulse to take Peter home 
to his father seized him. Old Angus would be so 
comforted to think that his boy’s last act was giving 
a helping hand on the Jericho Road. But his horse 
was impatient, and Peter had already turned in at 
his own gate and was plunging through the snow to 
his house. A bottle was sticking out of his pocket. 
Evidently he intended to make a night of it. The 
sight of it made the young man change his mind. 
There was no use, as he had so often said, bothering 
with Peter Fiddle. He was determined to drink him- 
self to death and he would. 

Roderick let his horse go and went spinning down 
the road. Then he realised that he had given his 
arm a wrench, when he had pulled his horse out of 
Peter’s way. The pain in it grew intense for a few 
moments. He resolved that as soon as he was settled 
at his new work he would have it attended to. It was 
the relic of his old rainbow expedition and though it 
had annoyed him only at intervals it had never ceased 
to remind him that there was trouble there for him 
some future day. 

He had another hard parting to face, but one with 
hope in it for the future. When he tied his horse at 
the school gate and went in he was wondering how he 
would tell Helen how much the farewell meant to him. 
For he was determined that she must know. The 


‘‘THE MELODY DEADEN’D” ^91 


school was quiet, for the hour for dismissing had not 
come. As he entered the hall, Madame came swaying 
out of Miss Murray’s room with a group of cherubs 
peeping from behind her. “ Now you, Johnnie Pick- 
ett,” she was saying, “you just come and tell me if 
anybody’s bad and I’ll fix them.” Then she saw 
Roderick, and greeted him with a rapturous smile. 

“ There’s a dear boy,” she cried, “ to come and say 
good-bye to your old teacher. Now, you Johnnie 
Pickett, what are you following me out here for.? 
Aren’t you to watch the room for Miss Murray.? Go 
on back. WeU, and you are really going this after- 
noon.? ” she said, turning to her visitor again. “ And 
how is your father standing it.? What’s the matter 
now.? ” 

A small youngster with blazing eyes shot from the 
room and launched himself upon her. 

“ Please, teacher,” he cried, his voice shrill with 
wrath, “ them kids, they won’t mind me at all. 
Dutchy Scott’s makin’ faces, and the girls is talkin’, 
an’ Pie-face Hurd he’s calling names. He said I was 
a nigger ! ” His blue eyes and white hair belied the 
accusation, but his voice rose to a scream at the in- 
dignity. Mrs. Doasyouwouldbedoneby marched the 
deposed monitor back to the room to restore order, 
explaining volubly that it was quite as wicked a 
crime to call a boy Pie-face as for that boy to call 
one a nigger. 

“ I’ve got Miss Murray’s room in charge,” she said, 
returning to Roderick smiling and breathless. “ Go 


292 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 

on back there, now ! I see you looking out there, 
you, Jimmie Hurd. Just wait till I catch you ! ” 

‘‘ She isn’t sick, is she? ” asked Roderick dismayed. 

No. Oh, no! She went with a crowd of young 
folks to a tea-meeting at Arrow Head. They started 
early, and I made her run home an hour before the time 
to bundle up. Now, Johnnie Pickett, leave that 
chalk alone! You don’t need to think I don’t see 
you — ” 

Roderick went on his journey miserably disap- 
pointed. She had gone on a sleigh ride and she must 
have known, indeed she did know, he intended to call 
and say good-bye to her. Each farewell had been 
harder than the last and now this absence of farewell 
was the hardest of all. There was one more — ^Lawyer 
Ed’s. Like Old Angus, he was making an attempt 
at cheerfulness that was heartbreaking. He tramped 
about, singing loudly, scolding every one who came 
near him, and proclaiming his joy over the Lad’s 
going in a manner that drove poor Roderick’s sore 
heart to desperation. He drove with him to the sta- 
tion, carried his bag on board, loaded him with books 
and magazines and bade him a joyful farewell, with 
not a word of regret. But he gave way as the train 
moved out and Roderick saw him hastily wipe his eyes 
and as he looked back for one last glimpse of his be- 
loved figure, the Lad saw Lawyer Ed move slowly 
away, showing for the first time in his life the signs of 
approaching age. 

That night Old Angus sat late over his kitchen fire. 


“THE MELODY DEADEN’D” 29S 


He was mentally following the Lad. He was in 
Toronto now; later, on the way to Montreal, lying 
asleep in his berth probably. Old Angus’s faith for- 
bade his doubting that God’s hand was in his boy’s 
departure. But the remembrance of all his j oyous 
plans on the day the Lad started in Algonquin per- 
sisted in coming up to haunt him. He sat far into 
the night trying to reason himself back into his former 
cheerfulness. The storm had risen anew, and gusts 
of wind came tearing up from the lake, lashing the 
trees and shaking the old house. The snow beat with 
a soft, quick pad-pad upon the window-pane. Occa- 
sionally the jingle of bells came to him muffled in the 
snow. Finally, he heard a new sound, some one sing- 
ing. It was probably a sleigh-load of young folk re- 
turning from a country tea-meeting, he reflected. 
Then he suddenly sat up straight. Something fa- 
miliar in the fitful sounds made him slip out to the 
door and listen. The wind was lulled for a moment, 
and he could dimly discern a figure going along the 
road. And he could hear a voice raised loud and 
discordant in the 103rd psalm ! Old Angus came back 
into the house swiftly. He caught up his coat and 
cap. Peter had fallen among thieves once more! 
And he would probably be left by the road-side to 
freeze were he not rescued. He hastily lit a lantern 
and carefully closed up the stove. Then, softly open- 
ing the door, he hurried out into the storm. 

He found the lane and the road beyond badly 
drifted, but he plunged along, his swaying lantern 


^94 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


making a faint yellow star in the swirling white mists 
of the storm. He reached the road. Peter’s voice 
came to him fitfully on the wind. He had probably 
started out to come to him and had lost his bearings. 
There was nothing to do but follow and bring him 
back. He plunged into the road and staggered 
forward in the direction of the voice. 

The snow had stopped falling but the wind that 
was driving it into drifts was growing bitterly cold. 
Old Angus needed all his strength to battle with it, as 
he forced his way forward, sinking sometimes almost 
to his waist. He struggled on. Peter was some- 
where there ahead, perhaps fallen to freeze by the 
roadside, and the Good Samaritan must not give in 
till he found him. But his own strength was going 
fast. In his thought for Peter he had forgotten that 
he was not able to battle with such a wind. He fell 
again and again, and each time he rose it was with an 
added sense of weakness. He kept calling to Peter, 
but the roar of the lake on the one hand and the 
answering roar of the pines on the other drowned his 
voice. He was almost exhausted when he stumbled 
over a dark object half burled in snow in the 
middle of the road. He staggered to his feet and 
turned his lantern upon it. It was Peter, lain down 
in a drunken stupor to die of cold. 

Peter ! Peter ! ” Angus McRae tried to speak his 
name, but his benumbed lips refused to make an artic- 
ulate sound. He dropped the lantern beside him and 


‘‘THE MELODY DEADEN’D” 295 


tried to raise the prostrate figure. As he did so he 
felt the light of the lantern grow dim. It faded 
away, and the Good Samaritan and the man who had 
fallen among thieves lay side by side in the snow. 


CHAPTER XIII 


THE MASTER WHISPERED ” 

W HEN Roderick stepped on board the 
night train for Montreal he was sur- 
prised and pleased to find Doctor 
Archie Blair bustling into the opposite compartment. 
That delightful person, with a suit-case, a pile of 
medical journals, a copy of Bums, and a new book 
of poems, had left Algonquin the day before, and was 
now setting out on a tremendous journey all the way 
to Halifax, to attend a great medical congress. He 
welcomed his young fellow-townsman hilariously, 
pulled him into his seat, jammed him into a corner, 
and scowling fiercely, with his fists brandished in the 
young man’s face and his eyes flashing, he spent an 
hour demonstrating to Roderick that he had just dis- 
covered a young Canadian singer of the spirit if not 
the power of his great Scottish bard. The other occu- 
pants of the sleeping-car watched the violent big man 
with the terrible eye, nervously expecting him every 
moment to spring upon his young victim and throttle 
him. But to those who were within earshot, the stern- 
est thing he said was. 


‘‘THE MASTER WHISPERED’’ 


297 


“ Then gently scan thy brother man. 

Still gentler sister woman. 

Though they may gang a heenin^ wrang. 

To step aside is humanj"' 

The charm of the doctor’s conversation, drove away 
much of Roderick’s homesickness and despondency, 
but it could not make him forget the pain in his arm, 
which was hourly growing more insistent. 

“ And so you’re leaving Algonquin for good,” said 
Archie Blair at last, when the black porter sent them 
to the smoker while he made up their berths. “ Well, 
there’s a great future ahead of you in that firm. Not 
many young fellows have such a chance as that. I 
wish Ed could have gone away before you left, though, 
to Jericho, or Sodom and Gomorrah, or wherever it is 
he and J. P. Thornton are heading for.” 

Archie Blair, as every one in Algonquin knew, lived 
as near to the rules of life set forth in the Bible as 
any man in the town. But he delighted in being 
known as a wicked and irreligious person, and always 
made a fine pretence at being at sea when speaking of 
anything Scriptural. 

“ Yes, sir, it’s rather hard on old Ed ; and there’s 
J. P. too. He’s been waiting for Ed ever since the 
Holy Land was discovered, as faithfully as Ruth 
waited for Jacob or whoever it was. I can’t re- 
member when those two chaps weren’t planning to take 
that trip, and it looks as if they’d get to the New 
Jerusalem first, Cracky, now, I believe you were the 


^98 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


one that stopped their first trip and here you’re inter- 
rupting another one ! ” He laughed delightedly. 

I? ” inquired Roderick. “ How was that? ” 

“ Oh, Ed wouldn’t say so. He’d be sure it was the 
hand of Providence. It was the time you went off 
hunting the rainbow and got lost, don’t you remem- 
ber? and your father got sick on the head of it. Ed 
stayed home that time.” 

‘‘But it was Jock McPherson who came to poor 
father’s rescue that time,” said Roderick. “ Lawyer 
Ed told me himself.” 

Doctor Blair made a grimace. 

“ Roderick McRae,” he said, after a moment, “ I 
have a fatal weakness. I suppose it’s the poet in me. 
I like to think it is. I’m forever pouring out the 
thoughts of my inmost heart which I really ought to 
keep to myself. That was the way with Bobby ye 
mind: 


‘ Is there a whim-inspired fool 
Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule,* 

And here I’ve been telling tales I should keep tae 
ma’sel ! ” 

“ Well, you’ve got to finish, now that you’ve 
started,” cried Roderick. “ Do you mean to tell me 
that Lawyer Ed — ” 

“No, I don’t mean to tell you anything, but I’ve 
done it, and I might 6is well make a full confession. 
Of course it was Lawyer Ed did it. He always does 


“THE MASTER WHISPERED” 299 

things like that, he’s got them scattered all over the 
country.’’ 

‘‘ But — ^why didn’t I know ? ” cried Roderick 
sharply. And what did he do? ” 

“ Because he didn’t want it. I’m the only person 
in Algonquin that knows, except J, P., of course. 
J. P. knows the innermost thoughts that pass through 
Ed’s mind. There’s another secret between us three.” 
He smiled half-sadly. ‘‘ I suppose, though, your 
father knows this one — ^that Ed was to have married 
J. P.’s only sister. She was tall and willowy and just 
like a flower, and she died a week before the wedding 
day. They buried her in her white satin wedding 
dress with her veil and orange blossoms.” Archie 
Blair’s voice had sunk to a tender whisper. I saw 
her in her cofiin, with a white lily in her hand.” 

He was silent so long that Roderick brought him 
back to the starting point. “ But you haven’t told 
me yet how he helped Father.” 

So Archie Blair began at the beginning and told 
him all, happily unconscious of how he was harrowing 
Roderick’s feelings in the telling. It was the old 
story of his father’s mortgage, his own hunt for the 
rainbow, which, the doctor declared, argued that he 
should have been a poet, his father’s illness, and Law- 
yer Ed’s postponement of his trip, and greatest of 
all, his setting aside of the chance to leave Algonquin 
as partner with his old chum, William Graham, now 
millionaire. 

“ Your father sort of brought Ed up, you know. 


300 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


Rod, made him walk the straight and narrow way 
as he has done with many a man. I want to take my 
hat off every time I see that father of yours.” He 
saw the distress in Roderick’s face and was rather 
disconcerted. “ Your father paid him every cent 
with interest, of course. Lad, you know that,” he 
added hurriedly. ‘‘ But there are some things can’t 
be paid in money. Well, well — ^where did I start.'* 
Oh, at Jerusalem, and I’ve wandered from Dan to 
Beersheba and haven’t got anywhere yet. Well, that 
was how Ed got started on the habit of staying home 
from the Holy Land, and he doesn’t seem to be able 
to get out of it. You know it’s a good thing. I’m 
always sorry Wordsworth ever went to Yarrow. It’s 
a hundred times better to keep your dream-country a 
dream. 

‘ Be Yarrow stream unseen^ unknown! 

It must^ or we shall rue it,' 

And if he ever goes, it’ll never be what he thinks. 
His dreams of Galilee and the Rose of Sharon and 
Mount Carmel will vanish when he sees the poor 
reality. You see, in his Palestine, the Lord is always 
there.” He dropped his voice — 

“ ‘ And in those little lanes of Nazareth 

Each morn His holy feet would come and go,' " 

Roderick was not listening. He sat with downcast 


‘VTHE MASTER WHISPERED” 


301 


eyes and burning cheek. Lawyer Ed had done all 
this for his father, for him, — and this was his reward ! 
The man had given up his chance in life for his father 
and then the son had come and done this abominable 
thing. Surely the gleam of the rainbow-gold was be- 
ginning to mock him already. And yet, as he sat 
there, overcome with humiliation, his mind was busy 
arranging swift compromises, as it had always done. 
He would pay Lawyer Ed, oh, five fold, and send him 
away for a year’s travel. And yet when all his gener- 
ous schemes had been exhausted, he knew they were 
not what Lawyer Ed wanted. It was the love and 
devotion of his friend’s son he preferred above all 
worldly gain. 

He came to a knowledge of his surroundings, 
called back by a sudden exclamation from the doctor. 

“ I believe you’re sick. Rod ! You look like an ad- 
vanced and violent case of sea-sickness.” 

Roderick became conscious that his arm was pain- 
ing him severely and said so. He could have said 
quite truthfully that the pain in his heart was quite 
as bad. 

“ That old arm,” cried Archie Blair in distress. ‘‘ I 
tell you. Lad, you’ve got to have that thing looked 
after. Here, get to bed and I’ll have a look at it 
when you’re undressed.” 

He came into Roderick’s berth later and with rough 
kindness handled the swollen, aching limb. “ I al- 
ways told you something would come of this,” he 
grumbled. “ And like everybody, you won’t listen 


302 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


till it’s too late. There’s some serious trouble there, 
Rod, or I’m very badly mistaken. Now, look here, 
you promise me on your word and honour you’ll go 
straight to a doctor when you get to Montreal — to 
Doctor NichoUs. Here, I’ll give you his address. 
Now, will you promise to go to-morrow morning, or 
must I stop off and miss my train to Halifax to see 
you do it? ” 

Roderick promised and lay down in his berth, but 
not to sleep. The pain in his arm was severe enough 
to keep him awake, but it was no worse than his heart' 
ache. It was a tender heart, not yet calloused by 
constant pursuit of selfish aims. That state would 
certainly be arrived at, on the road he was travelling, 
but he was still young and his very soul was longing 
to go back to his father and Lawyer Ed. Again and 
again he tried to comfort himself with the promise 
that he would make up to them for all they had done, 
oh, many times over, and in the end, they would both 
realise that the course he had pursued was for the 
best. 

As he made this firm resolution, for the tenth time, 
the train drew up at a little station in the woods. 
Roderick looked out at the steam hissing from beneath 
his window and the dim light in the little station. He 
recognised it as the junction, where a branch line ran 
from the main road, across the country, through 
forest and by lake shore, straight to Algonquin. The 
home train was approaching now. He could hear its 
rumbling wheels and its clanging bell far down the 


“THE MASTER WHISPERED” 


303 


curving track, and the next moment, with a flare of 
light upon the snow, it came tearing up out of the 
forest and roared into the little station. Its brilliant 
windows flashed past his dazzled eyes. It stopped 
with a great exhaled breath of relief and stood panting 
and pufBng after its long run. Roderick knew that 
if he chose he could slip out, leap on that train and 
go speeding away up through the forest and be in Al- 
gonquin before morning. He felt for a moment an 
almost irresistible impulse to do it, to fling away every- 
thing and go back. But he would look like a fool, 
and the people would laugh at him, and quite rightly. 
He could not go back now. 

There was a gentle movement, and slowly and 
smoothly he began to glide past those home-going 
lights. In a moment more he was speeding eastward 
into the white night. 

When he reached Montreal he went immediately to 
the hotel. He was to meet Mr. Graham and the head 
of the firm there that evening, when everything re- 
garding his immediate duties was to be settled. He 
registered, and found a room awaiting him, a luxuri- 
ous room, finer than any he could afford. It was the 
beginning of his new life. He went down to break- 
fast, but could eat nothing, for the pain in his arm. 
He was not at all averse to obeying Dr. Blair’s in- 
junction, and as soon as he went back to his room, 
he telephoned the doctor whose address he had been 
given. He felt a strange dizziness and, fearing to 
go out, he asked \f the doctor would call. When Rod- 


304 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


erick gave the name of the firm he represented, there 
was an immediate rise in the temperature at the other 
end of the telephone. Evidently the young lady in 
charge of Doctor Nicholls’s office knew her business. 
All uncertainty as to the physician’s movements im- 
mediately vanished. 

Doctor Nicholls would call in the course of half an 
hour if convenient to Mr. McRae, he was just about 
to visit the Bellevue House in any case. 

Roderick felt again the advantages of his new 
position. The sensation of power was very pleasant, 
but it could not keep his arm from aching. The pain 
grew steadily worse, until at last he lay on the bed 
waiting impatiently. 

In a short time there came a tap on the door. 
Thinking it was the doctor, Roderick sprang up re- 
lieved. But it was only the boy in buttons with a 
telegram. He signed the paper indifferently. Even 
the most urgent business of Elliot & Kent could not 
arouse his interest, he was feeling so sick and miserable 
and down-hearted. He opened the yellow paper 
slowly, and then sprang up with a cry that made the 
boy stop in the hall and listen. Roderick stood in 
the middle of the room reading the terse message 
again and again: 

“ Father ill. Come at once.” E. L. Bl-ians. 

He leaped to the telephone, then dropped the re- 
ceiver at the sight of a railway guide he had left upon 
the table. The first train he could take for home left 
at fifteen minutes past three in the afternoon. And it 


‘‘THE MASTER WHISPERED” 


305 


was not yet ten o’clock ! He sat down on the bed, a 
dread fear possessing his soul. Wild surmises rushed 
through his mind. What could have happened.^ It 
was not twenty-four hours since he had seen his father 
standing in the doorway waving him farewell, the 
sunlight on his face and that gallant, anguished at- 
tempt at a smile ! Roderick groaned aloud as he re- 
membered. He took up the telegram again, striving 
to extract from its cruelly brief words some inkling 
of what had preceded it, some hope for the future. 

A second tap at the door sent him to open it with 
a bound. Before him stood a professional looking 
man, well-dressed and well-groomed, with a small 
leather bag. 

“ Are you my patient ? ” he asked briskly. 

“ Patient .f’ ” Roderick stared at him stupidly. 

“Yes; Mr. McRae, I believe.'^ I am Doctor 
Nicholls.” 

“ Oh,” said Roderick. “ I had forgotten all about 
it. Yes, come in.” He stepped back and the phy- 
sician eyed him curiously. He looked desperately ill, 
sure enough. 

Roderick answered briefly and absently all the doc- 
tor’s questions. Beside this awful thing which threat- 
ened him, his arm seemed so trivial, that he was im- 
patient at the attention he was compelled to give it. 
Evidently the physician was of another opinion as to 
its importance. His face was imperturbable, but 
after a careful examination he said very gravely: 

“ You’ll have to have this attended to immediately, 


306 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


Mr. McRae. Immediately. It’s a case, if my judg- 
ment is correct, that has been delayed much too long 
already. Could you come to the hospital — this morn- 
ing? ” 

“ I have to leave here on the three-fifteen this after- 
noon,” said Roderick. ‘‘I have just received a tele- 
gram that my father is very ill — I can’t have anything 
done to-day.” 

“Ah, quite sad indeed. Not serious I hope? ” 

“ I don’t know,” said Roderick dully. 

“ I must urge you especially to come to-day. We 
have Dr. Berger here, from New York. He is going 
to the congress at Halifax. You have heard of him, 
of course. He is coming to see some patients of mine 
this morning, and I should like him to see you too. In- 
deed, I feel I must urge you, Mr. McRae. You are 
trifling with your health, perhaps your life,” he went 
on, puzzled by Roderick’s indifference. “ It is im- 
perative that something be done at once. How about 
coming with me now? It leaves plenty of time for 
your train.” 

Roderick considered a moment. He could not meet 
Mr. Graham now in any case. He must leave a mes- 
sage for him that he had been called back to Algon- 
quin and telegraph home for more specific news. 
That was all he could do until train time, so he de- 
cided he might as well obey the doctor. 

When he had despatched a telegram and written a 
message for Mr. Graham he followed the doctor to his 
car. The professional man seemed eagerly delighted. 


‘‘THE MASTER WHISPERED’’ 


307 


as though Roderick were merely a wonderful new 
specimen he had found and upon which he intended to 
experiment. He chattered away happily on the way 
to the hospital. 

“ Yes, Berger will be very much interested. Yours 
is really a rare case, from a medical standpoint, Mr. 
McRae. Quite unique. You said you believed it 
was injured when you were only six years old.f^ ” 

He seemed almost pleased, but Roderick did not 
care. The pain in his arm and that fiercer pain ra- 
ging in his heart made him indifferent. “ My father f 
My father ! ” he was repeating to himself in anguished 
inquiry. What had happened to his father Per- 
haps he was dying, while his son lingered far away 
from him. And what an age he had to wait for that 
train, and what another age to wait till it crawled 
back to Algonquin ! He remembered with wonder the 
strange wild impulse he had had the night before to 
leap across into the home-bound train and go back. 
He speculated upon what might have happened, until 
his brain reeled. And when would he get another 
telegram.? And why had not Lawyer Ed told him 
more.? He asked himself these futile questions over 
and over in wild impatience. The fever of the night 
before had returned, his head was hot, and ached as 
if it would burst. 

He obeyed the doctor’s orders mechanically. His 
mind was focussed on the time for the train to leave 
and in the interval he did not care what they did with 
him. So he let himself be put into a bare little white 


308 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


room, heavy with the smell of disinfectants, while a 
nurse in a blue uniform and a young house surgeon 
in white and a silent footed orderly moved about him. 

The nurse’s blue dress reminded him of another blue 
gown, one for which he used to watch at the office win- 
dow on summer mornings. He followed it with his 
eyes, as the great surgeon took him in hand and ex- 
amined and questioned him. He answered mechanic- 
ally, his parched lips uttering things with which his 
fevered brain seemed to have no interest. 

He listened in a detached way, as though the doctor 
were speaking of some one else as, with many technical 
terms, he diagnosed the case. Doctor Nicholls was 
there, and two young house surgeons, all eagerly lis- 
tening, but the patient’s mind was away in the old 
farm house on the shore of Lake Algonquin desper- 
ately seeking relief from its suspense. 

He scarcely noticed when they left the room, but he 
came to himself completely when they returned, and 
Dr. Nicholls announced to him briskly and almost joy- 
fully that Dr. Berger’s ultimatum was an immediate 
operation. 

“ No, you won’t,” said the patient with sudden 
vigour. “ I have to leave this afternoon for home on 
the three-fifteen.” 

The gi'eat man looked down at him. “ Young 
man,” he said quietly, and there was a still strength 
in his manner that carried conviction, “ you will do as 
you please of course, but if you don’t take my advice 
and have that limb attended to immediately, you’ll go 


‘‘THE MASTER WHISPERED” 


309 


to your long home, and not much later than 3.15 
either. Yours is a most critical case. If you refuse 
you are committing suicide. Now, Doctor Nicholls, 
I have just half-an-hour to see your other patients.” 

He walked out of the room. And Roderick sat up 
in the bed and stared after them stupefied. A young 
house-surgeon, who had been regarding the patient 
with eyes holding more than professional interest, 
came to his side. He tried to speak cheerfully. 

“ It’s a most unusual thing to operate in such a 
hurry, but it’s better for a patient, I think. It’s all 
over quickly you know, and no long weary waiting.” 

“ But my father ! ” cried Roderick. “ My father 
is critically ill. I’ve got to go home ! I’ve got to, 
I tell you ! I can have this done — ^later — at home.” 

The fever flush deepened to a hot crimson. He got 
to his feet, then staggered back, dizzy with pain. The 
young physician laid him on the bed. “ Look here, 
now, you mustn’t get worked up like that, Roderick,” 
he said. 

Roderick looked up at him. The young man had 
come into the room with Dr. Berger, but not till this 
moment had he noticed him. He stared, and a light, 
brighter even than the fever had brought, leaped into 
his eyes. 

“ Wells ! ” he cried. “ Is it Dick Wells.? ” 

“ Dick Wells, it is,” said the other, smiling, pleased 
that he had created such a complete diversion. He 
took the patient’s left hand and shook it with a cor- 
diality that was not returned. 


310 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


“ I haven’t seen you since old ’Varsity days, Rod. 
And ’pon my word I didn’t know you for a minute. 
We’ll see you through this all right ; don’t worry.” 

Roderick was staring at him in a disconcerting way. 

Where have you been since you graduated? ” he 
asked. 

That harsh unsmiling manner was not at all like 
the Roderick McRae he had known in college, but the 
young man laid the change to his fevered condition. 

“ Here, in Montreal. Next year I hope to go to 
Europe.” He made a sign to the nurse who entered, 
and quietly began preparing the arm for its operation. 
Roderick did not pay any attention to even her blue 
uniform this time, his eyes were fixed with a fierce in- 
tentness upon the young doctor’s face. Wells had 
always been known as a very handsome fellow, but his 
appearance had not improved; he had grown stouter 
and coarser. He was still good-looking, however, and 
his manner had the old easy kindness Roderick re- 
membered. He was just going to ask him another 
abrupt question, when the young doctor slipped his 
finger over the patient’s pulse, and began talking 
quietly and soothingly. 

“ And you went back to your old home town, didn’t 
you? Let me see — ” his casual air did not deceive his 
alert listener — “ Algonquin’s your home, isn’t it? ” 

« Yes.” 

“You’ve been practising law there, haven’t you? ” 
He took out his watch and looked at it. 

“ Yes, — in Algonquin.” 


‘‘THE MASTER WHISPERED” 


311 


A smile passed over the young physician’s face, as 
of pleasant reminiscence. “ Algonquin,” he repeated 
' — “ pretty name. You don’t happen to know — er — a, 
Miss Murray there, do you? A teacher.” 

“ Yes,” said Roderick, “ I’ve met her,” and held his 
breath for the next words. 

“I’ve met her too — several times.” He laughed, 
glancing at Roderick in a shamefaced manner. “ I 
think when you go home, if you’ll take me. I’ll go 
along as travelling physician. I’d like most awfully 
well to see that town of yours.” 

Roderick involuntarily jerked his wrist from the 
other’s grasp. Had he not done so, the doctor would 
have been amazed at the leap of the already bounding 
pulse. 

“ I thought — rumour had it at college — ^that your 
affections were in process of transition when you grad- 
uated.” Roderick looked straight at him. It was 
impossible to keep from his voice something of the 
bitterness rising in his heart. He was risking his 
own secret. But he felt he must know. 

Dick Wells’ eyes dropped to his watch again. He 
was silent for a moment. The nurse left the room 
and he immediately spoke in a low tone. 

“ If a fellow plays the fool once in life,” he said, 
“ that’s no reason why he should take it up as a steady 
profession. I’ve dropped it for good and all. And 
if you behave yourself and have this operation right 
away I’ll come and take Christmas dinner — no, that’s 
holiday time — I’ll come and prescribe for you shortly 


S12 THE END OE THE RAINBOW 


after New Year’s ! ” He laughed joyfully. “ I hope 
you’ll welcome me,” he said, half-shy ly. “For I’ve 
reason to believe I’m going to be welcomed in other 
quarters.” 

“ Dr. Wells, you are wanted in the corridor,” said 
the nurse, returning. 

He left the room, and Roderick lay back and stared 
at the ceiling. He caught the word amputation, and 
he knew they were talking about his arm. They were 
going to cut it off, then. The knowledge did not seem 
to add anything to the overwhelming weight which 
had fallen upon him, and was crushing him. The 
whole structure of his life was tumbling about him, and 
he lay caught helpless in its fall. His new position 
was gone, for well he knew the company could not wait 
' — indeed, would not wait — for so insignificant a serv- 
ant as he. His father — perhaps his father was gone. 
And now the rosy hope that had steadily and surely 
arisen in his heart, since the day he had seen Helen 
Murray on board the Inverness, until it had lighted up 
his whole life, had suddenly vanished in darkness. 
His fighting spirit rose against these odds. He 
shoved the deft hands of the nurse aside and sat up. 

“ I’m going home,” he said hoarsely. Then the 
nurse, and the little white table by the bedside with 
the bottles on it, and the white uniformed man stand- 
ing outside the doorway, swung up to the ceiling and 
became an indistinct blur. He recovered almost im- 
mediately. The nurse slipped a little thermometer 
under his tongue, and put a cool finger on his pulse. 


“THE MASTER WHISPERED” 


313 


I must go home,” mumbled Roderick. Where’s 
Dr. Wells? ” 

“ Dr. Wells is wanted in the operating room,” she 
said soothingly. “ You will be glad to know he is 
going to assist. I understand you are old friends.” 
She looked at him anxiously. He was in the worst 
possible condition mentally for an operation. 

“ If you’d just brace up, you know,” she said en- 
couragingly. “ If you would get hold of yourself.” 
She had prepared many a patient for the operating 
table, and had seen few so exercised as this one. 
“ You must be courageous,” she said. “ The opera- 
tion may not be serious. And it will be over soon.” 

Roderick looked at her uncomprehendingly. He 
cared not at all for the operation itself, but it was the 
trap that had caught him, and he was writhing to be 
free. 

Her next words put a new face on it. 

If you have any message to send to your friends,” 
she said gently, I should be glad to have it attended 
to. Have you any — property or anything that 
should be settled. We hope this operation will be 
simple ; but if not — ^you should be prepared, Mr. Mc- 
Rae.” 

There’s nothing,” said Roderick. Nothing.” 
Everything in the world was slipping from him. The 
props of life had given way one by one, and now per- 
haps life itself was going. He lay there on the small 
cot-bed, watching the nurse and orderly hurry to and 
fro, and looked squarely at the situation. It was 


314 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


desperate. Always he had taken hold of difficulties 
and wrenched them out of his path and gone proudly 
on his way. But here he was helpless. For the first 
time in his strong, successful youth he realised that 
which his father had striven all his years to teach him, 
man’s utter impotence before God. He was bound 
hand and foot, helpless, just as the door of success 
had flung open at his touch. He had paddled out 
bravely into the open sea of life after the rainbow 
gold, only to find it vanish and leave him lost in a 
world of mists and shadows. He remembered Dr. Les- 
lie’s words : “ If His love cannot draw us into the 

way, it meets us on the Damascus road and blinds us 
with its light.” 

He lay there for what seemed an interminable time. 
He was clinging to one faint hope. Lawyer Ed 
would surely answer his telegram. But the nurse re- 
turned with the word that there had been no message, 
and that the doctors were preparing. He was to go 
down to the operating room in ten minutes. 

It seemed as if with that word the last feeble sup- 
port gave way, and then Roderick McRae’s soul went 
down to the black brink of despair. He was utterly 
alone, without help or friend. Everything, his suc- 
cess, his health, his father, his love, had been snatched 
from him in one moment. 

There was even no God for him. He had been so 
long dependent entirely upon himself, that God had 
become a meaningless word. And now, if God were 
real. His cruel Hand was behind that fearful black 


‘^THE MASTER WHISPERED” 


315 


mist that was closing about him shutting him off from 
hope. He lay like a log, staring at the white ceiling 
of the little hospital room. The nurse and the or- 
derly were bidding him brace up and were shaking 
their heads over him. He paid no more attention to 
them than to the strong odour of drugs or the soft 
click-click of heels on the hardwood floor of the cor- 
ridor. Some subtle trick of memory had taken him 
back to the one other time of despair in his expe- 
rience. He was back again in that night, years 
ago, when he was lost on the lake, drifting away 
in the darkness to unknown terrors; and just as he 
had cried out that night, his whole soul rose in one 
desperate demand upon his Father for help. 

Oh, God ! ” he groaned, starting up, oh, God, 
help me ! ” 

And then it happened; the great wonder. The 
light from his Father’s boat! The sound of his 
Father’s voice ! Just as, long ago, lost in mists and 
darkness, a prey to every terror, his father’s voice, 
calling down the shaft of light, had caught him up 
from despair to the heights of joy, so it was now. 
Suddenly, without reason, there fell upon the young 
man’s writhing soul a great calm. He lay back on 
his pillow, perfectly still, his whole being held in awe 
of what had happened. For there, in the common 
light of day, within the bare walls of the hospital 
room, not visible to the human eye, but plain to the 
eye of the soul, staring beyond the things that are 
seen for a gleam of hope, a Presence was quietly 


316 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


standing. Serene, omnipotent, all-calming, the gra- 
cious One stood, close to his side, and fear and pain 
fled before Him. 

Roderick was conscious of no feeling of surprise or 
wonder. He felt only a great serenity, and an abso- 
lute safety. He asked no questions, felt no desire to 
ask any. There had been another young man once, 
who had met this same One in a like headlong career, 
planned by his own strong right hand, and he had 
cried out in fear, Who art thou, Lord.?^ ” But Rod- 
erick knew just as well as he had known his father’s 
voice that night coming out of the mists and dark- 
ness. His Eternal Father was at his side. That 
was all he knew now. It was all he cared to know. 
He lay there in perfect peace and, close to his side, 
silent and strong, stood the Presence. 

The orderly pushed up the little wheeled convey- 
ance to the bedside, the nurse took his wrist in her 
hand again. She beamed happily. Good for 
you,” she said, as she placed her hand upon his 
forehead. “ Why, you’re splendid. You’ve got 
your nerve all right,” and she stared in amazement 
when Roderick smiled at her. He did not answer, 
though, he was listening to something. All the old 
promises he had learned at his father’s knee and that 
had meant nothing to him for so long, were flooding 
over his peaceful soul, coming serenely and softly 
from the Presence standing by his pillow. 

“ When thou passest through the waters, I will be 


“THE MASTER WHISPERED’’ 


317 


with thee and through the rivers they shall not over- 
flow thee; when thou walkest through the fire, thou 
shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle 
upon thee . . . Thou shalt not be afraid for the 
terror by night ; nor for the arrow that flieth by day, 
nor for the pestilence that walketh in darkness.” 

Now, sir,” said the orderly, “ we’ll just move you 
onto this truck.” But Roderick rose up strongly. 
“ Why can’t I walk down ? ” he asked. The nurse 
stared and again felt the patient’s pulse for some ex- 
planation of this transformation. The quiet steady 
beat in the wrist was the strangest part of it all. 

“ Well,” she cried admiringly, I never saw any- 
thing like you. You’re perfectly able to walk; but 
you’d better save your strength. Just lie down on 
this. You’ll be all over your operation in no time ! ” 
Roderick obeyed, and the orderly wheeled him away 
to the elevator ; and along the bare hospital corridor 
moved with him that strong Presence. And he went 
with a perfect faith and as little fear as if he had been 
going along the Pine Road to his home. What did 
it matter as to the result, or what did it matter that 
his father back in Algonquin did not know ? He and 
his father were safe, upheld by the everlasting arms. 
It was well, no matter what the outcome. When he 
reached the operating room the Presence was there, 
just as real as the muffled doctors standing ready to 
do their work, and when he was stretched upon the 
table taking the anaesthetic, he felt as peaceful as on 


318 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


that night when he sank asleep in his father’s arms 
and was home safely homeward. 

It seemed that the next moment he awoke in the 
room he had so recently left. Dr. Nicholls was at his 
side. “ A normal pulse,” he said, smiling into Rod’s 
enquiring face. ‘‘ You’re a wonder. What do you 
think of that, nurse.? ” 

“ I expected that,” she said, smiling. 

“ You’ve behaved so well,” continued the doctor, 
“that I believe you’re able to receive two pieces of 
good news.” 

“My father,” whispered Roderick. The doctor 
nodded happily. “ A telegram came half-an-hour 
ago. It reads, ‘ Out of danger, no need to come, 
will write. E. Brians.’ ” Roderick felt the tears 
slipping over his cheek. The nurse wiped them away. 
He was remembering it all now. The Presence had 
been with his father too. 

“ You haven’t asked about my other news,” said the 
doctor. 

Roderick looked at him enquiringly. He was 
thinking of Helen, and had forgotten all about the 
operation. 

“ Berger saved your arm. And it will be as fit as 
ever in a few months. It was the most delicate kind 
of operation, and one of the finest he ever did. I 
shall tell you more about it later, you must be quiet 
now. But I must give you Dr. Berger’s message. 
He had to leave for Halifax, but he said he wished 
he could congratulate you on your nerve. I don’t 


“THE MASTER WHISPERED” 


319 


know what you did to get hold of yourself in such a 
hurry, but you saved your own life. Now, I’ve told 
you enough. You must neither speak nor be spoken 
to until I see you again.” 

He smiled again, radiant with the true scientist’s 
joy over such a triumph of skill as Roderick’s arm 
presented, and left the room. 

And Roderick, who knew so much more about it all 
than mere science could ever teach, closed his eyes 
and lay still, his whole soul raising to its new-found 
God one inarticulate note of thanksgiving. 


CHAPTER XIV 


FOLLOW THE GLEAM ” 

I T was the first trip of the season and the Inver- 
ness was crowded from stem to stern. The 
picnic was given by the Sons of Scotland, so 
every Presbyterian in the town was there. But there 
were many more, for Lawyer Ed had gone out into 
the highways and byways of other denominations and 
nationalities and had compelled Methodists and Angli- 
cans and Baptists and folk of every creed to come 
over to the Island and hear the bagpipes and see 
Archie Blair toss the caber. 

“ Your father’s got to come. Rod,” he said, the even- 
ing before the picnic. So don’t you dare show your 
nose here without him to-morrow.” 

But Old Angus laughingly refused his son’s plead- 
ing. “ Tuts, tuts,” he said reprovingly, “ it’s the 
foolish boy that Edward is. He is younger than you. 
Lad. Indeed I’ll not be going, and I think you should 
jist stay at home yourself, my son. The night air 
will be damp and you will not be jist too strong yet.” 

Roderick laughed. “ Father, you will soon be as 
bad as Aunt Kirsty. I do believe she is bitterly dis- 
appointed that I didn’t remain an invalid for a year, 
S20 


“FOLLOW THE GLEAM” 


321 


so that she might coddle me. I wouldn’t miss this 
picnic for all Algonquin. It will be my first festivity 
since I was sick, and I want you to be in it.” 

The old man looked up into his son’s face, his 
eyes shining. This new Roderick who had come back 
to him, maimed and weakened, right from the very 
gates of death was even more to him than the old 
Roderick. Not that his love had grown, nor his faith, 
that was impossible. But while he had always had 
high hopes that the Lad would one day fulfil all his 
fondest dreams, now he saw those dreams being ful- 
filled right before his eyes. There was a strong 
sentinel on the Jericho Road now, and the Good 
Samaritan could scarcely bear to part with him even 
for a day. 

But he shook his head happily. No, no ; Peter was 
coming over in the morning to look at the north field, 
and they would just row out as far as Wanda Island 
and hear the pipes, when the Inverness went past, 
and they would come back and stay at home with Aunt 
Kirsty like a pair of sensible old bodies. 

Roderick managed to catch Lawyer Ed in the 
office for a few moments in the morning and reported 
his failure. His chief called him many hard names, 
as he rushed out to catch a passer-by and make him 
come to the picnic, and Roderick locked the office door 
and went down to the wharf. There lay the Inverness, 
her gunwale sinking to the water’s edge under her 
joyous freight, banners fiying from every place a 
banner could be flown, and the band, and Harry 


THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


Lauder’s piper brother making the town and the lake 
and the woods beyond ring with music. 

Immediately after Roderick’s disappointing mes- 
sage had been delivered, Lawyer Ed rushed down Main 
Street and spied Afternoon Tea Willie driving the 
Baldwin girls down town to buy some almond cream 
to take to the picnic, in case of sunburn. And in his 
usual high-handed way, he had hailed them, sent the 
girls home on foot, and the young man spinning out 
to the McRae farm with stern commands not to dare 
return without Old Angus. 

So when Roderick was standing on the wharf talk- 
ing to Dr. Archie Blair, all resplendent in his kilt he 
was amazed to see coming down Main Street, the 
smartest buggy in the town, and in it Alf. Wilbur, 
driving his father, and more amazing still, by his side 
sat old Peter, with his fiddle in a case across his knee. 
They drew up at the edge of the wharf with a splendid 
fiourish, and Afternoon Tea Willie with his innate 
good manners, sprang out to help the two old men 
alight with as great deference as if they had been a 
couple of charming young ladies just come to town. 

Roderick sprang forward and caught his father’s 
hand as he stepped out, laughing in sheer delight. His 
eyes were misty with deep feeling. In the first quick 
glance he had turned upon the faces of the two old 
men, smiling in a half-ashamed, half-pleased way, like 
a couple of boys caught running away from school; 
Roderick had been struck with their strange resem- 


“FOLLOW THE GLEAM” 


323 


blance. His father’s refined face and his white hair 
had once made an absolute contrast to poor Old Peter’s 
bloated countenance, but with the last half-year, Old 
Peter’s face and form had been undergoing a change. 
Not since, that terrible winter night when he had al- 
most caused the death of his best friend had he fallen. 
It had been a hard fight sometimes, but the great vic- 
tory won by the temperance folk on New Year’s Day 
had been a victory for Peter. On the first of May the 
bar-rooms of Algonquin had closed. And now Peter 
walked the streets unafraid. And with his new cour- 
age and hope, his manhood had returned and he was 
slowly and surely growing like the man whose life- 
long devotion had brought him salvation. 

Doctor Blair saw them and came swinging up to 
make the old men welcome. Then Doctor Leslie 
sighted them and came forward in delighted amaze- 
ment, and Captain Jimmie spied them from the wheel 
house and called out joyfully, “ Hoots, toots, Angus! 
And is that you, Peter Lad ? ” And the Ancient 
Mariner left off smoking, and, pouring out a stream 
of Gaelic above the roar of the pipes, came right out 
on the wharf to make sure his eyes had not deceived 
him. 

Roderick guided the two to seats up on the deck 
near to the captain’s pilot house, finding the way 
thither a veritable triumphal procession. 

The crowds were still coming down Main Street; 
nervous mothers with babies bouncing wildly in their 


3M THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


little buggies, embarrassed fathers with great sagging 
baskets and hysterical children with their newly 
starched attire already wildly rumpled. 

Roderick scanned each new group eagerly, wonder- 
ing if Helen Murray would come. He had seen little 
of her since his return. A long illness following the 
critical operation had kept him at home, and when at 
last he was able to go out again and take up his work 
he found that gossip had it that Miss Murray, the 
pretty girl who taught in the East Ward school had 
had a young man to visit her. Miss Annabel had 
been quite excited over him, for he was very hand- 
some and was a successful surgeon, and Miss Arm- 
strong had pronounced him a splendid match for any 
girl. Roderick had been spared a visit from Dick 
Wells, and had wondered that the young man had not 
kept his promise. He had longed and yet dreaded to 
see him. He had been able to learn nothing about the 
visit except what gossip said, and to-day he was full 
of hope and fear, as he watched. His fears were 
stronger, but he was young and he could not keep 
from hoping. 

The Inx>emess, as every one in Algonquin knew, gave 
ample warning of her leave-taking. At exactly half- 
an-hour before the hour set for sailing, she always 
blew one long blast from her whistle. At fifteen min- 
utes to the hour she blew two shorter toots, and just 
on the eve of departure three blasts loud and sharp. 
This final warning, which Doctor Blair had profanely 
named the last trump, had been sounded, and Roder- 


^FOLLOW THE GLEAM” 


325 


ick began to look anxious for she had not yet appeared 
nor Mrs. Adams either. But he had gone sailing on 
picnics via the Inverness too many times to be seri- 
ously alarmed. The door of the little wheel-house 
where the captain had now taken his stand, com- 
manded a view of Main Street rising up from the 
water, and no native of Algonquin could do him the 
injustice to suppose that he would sail away while 
any one was waving to him from the hill. 

A half dozen women were signalling him now, and 
the captain blew a reassuring blast. And then round 
the corner from Elm Street, moving leisurely, came a 
stout swaying figure, with floating draperies. Chil- 
dren clung to her hands, children hung by her skirts, 
children ran after her and children danced before her. 
And long before she reached the water’s edge could 
be heard her admonitions, “ Now, you, Johnnie 
Pickett, don’t you dare to walk down there in the 
dirt. Maddie Willis, just you tie that hat on your 
head again, you’ll get a sunstroke, you know you will. 
Jimmie Hurd, you leave that poor little dog alone — ” 

Roderick looked eagerly beyond the lady, and there 
she was, at the rear of the procession, bringing up the 
stragglers. She was wearing a dress of that dull blue 
he liked to see her wear, the blue that was just a 
shade paler than her eyes, and she wore a big white 
shady hat. As she came nearer he could see she was 
laughing at Johnnie Pickett’s wicked antics. Her 
face had lost all its old sadness. Roderick’s heart was 
filled with a great foreboding. Had Dick Wells’ 


3^6 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 

visit brought that new colour to her cheek and the 
sparkle to her eyes? He wanted to go down and 
help her and her flock on board, for Gladys Hurd and 
Mrs. Perkins and Eddie and the baby were with her, 
and a half-dozen little folk were asking each a half- 
dozen questions of her at one moment. But he stood 
back shyly watching her from a distance, as Dr. Blair 
and Harry Lauder and the rest of the Highland Club 
helped them on board, the Piper meanwhile circling 
around Madame much to her disgust. 

When they were all on board and the Irvoemess 
had again given the three short shrieks which an- 
nounced she was really and truly starting, Roderick 
suddenly realised that Lawyer Ed was not on board. 
Now a Scotchman’s picnic without Lawyer Ed was 
an absurd and unthinkable thing, beside which Ham- 
let without the Prince of Denmark would have seemed 
perfectly reasonable and natural. He ran to the cap- 
tain, but there were several ahead of him with the dire 
news. For the Inverness had no sooner begun to move 
from the wharf than the awful truth had dawned upon 
a dozen folk at once. They had rushed from three 
directions and attacked the captain and Young Peter 
and the Ancient Mariner and demanded of them what 
they meant by such outrageous conduct. Very much 
abashed by her mistake the Inverness came surging 
back, the captain taking refuge in the Gaelic to ex- 
press his dismay. They were just in time, for there 
he was tearing down the street in his buggy. Miss 
Annabel Armstrong and Mrs. Captain Willoughby 


‘^FOLLOW THE GLEAM” 


sn 


squeezed in beside him and tbe horse going at such a 
breakneck pace that the dust and stones flew up on 
every side and there was danger that they would drive 
right into the lake. They stopped just on the brink. 
Lawyer Ed leaped out, flung the lines to a lounger on 
the dock bidding him take the horse back to the stable, 
helped the ladies alight, and had rushed them on 
board before the gang-plank could be put in place. 
The crowd cheered, and he waved his hat and shouted 
with laughter, over the narrow escape ; but the ladies 
looked a little ruffled. They had not intended to come 
to the picnic ; the day of private launches and motor- 
cars was dawning over Algonquin, and these public 
picnics were not in favour among the best people, 
therefore Mrs. Captain Willoughby had felt that she 
did not care to go, and the Misses Armstrong had felt 
they did not dare to go. But Lawyer Ed did not 
approve of social distinctions of any sort whatever, 
and he was determined that the best people should 
come out and have a good time like the worst. So he 
had gone right into the enemy’s camp and carried off 
two of the leaders captive, and here they were half- 
laughing and half-annoyed and explaining carefully 
to their friends how they had not had the slightest in- 
tention of coming in such a mixed crowd but that 
dreadful man just made them. 

Once more the Inverness gave her last agonised 
shriek, the captain shouted to the Ancient Mariner 
to get away there, for what was he doing whatever, 
and with a great deal of fussing and steaming and 


328 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


whistling the voyage was again commenced. The 
band gave place to the Piper, and he marched 
out to the tune of “ The Cock o’ the North,” look- 
ing exactly like a great giant humming-bird, his, 
plumage flashing in the sunlight, as he went buzzing 
around the deck. Harry Lauder and the doctor and 
two or three others of the frivolous young folk in the 
kilts went away oflp to where the minister could not 
see them and danced a Highland reel. The people 
who did not quite approve of public picnics gathered 
in a group by themselves. Miss Annabel Armstrong 
and Mrs. Captain Willoughby in the centre, and told 
each other all the latest news about Toronto, and 
yawned and wished they could have a game of whist, 
but Dr. Leslie would be sure to see them. The tired 
mothers who seldom went beyond their garden gate, 
handed over their children to Mrs. Doasyouwouldbe- 
doneby, and settled themselves contentedly in a circle 
to have a good old-fashioned visit. Up in the bow, 
a group of the older men surrounded Dr. Leslie. Old 
Angus McRae was so seldom seen at any festivity that 
his presence had made the picnic an event to his old 
friends. Again and again Dr. Leslie placed his hand 
on the old man’s knee and said, “ Well, well, Angus, 
it’s a treat to see you here.” And Peter Fiddle, the 
outcast and drunkard, sat in the group and listened 
eagerly to their talk like a man who had been long 
away and was eager to hear again the speech of his 
native land. And indeed poor Peter had been for 
many years in a far country, and his return had 


‘‘FOLLOW THE GLEAM’’ 


329 


opened up a new life to him. Roderick sat behind 
his father’s chair and listened as they talked and won- 
dered to hear Peter take his part with a fine intelli- 
gence. He looked at his father and thought of all the 
weary years he had toiled for Peter, and he was filled 
with a great gratitude that this was the sort of splen- 
did work to which he had been called. He would take 
his father’s place on the Jericho Road. It might be 
a highway here in Algonquin, the future was all un- 
questioned, but wherever it was the Vision would stand 
by him as He had stood in that hour of despair. 
And how glorious to think he might pick up a Peter 
from the dirt and help to restore him to his manhood. 

J. P. Thornton had led the conversation to theo- 
logical subjects. J. P. read along many lines, and 
it was whispered that he had queer ideas about the 
Bible: 

Lawyer Ed had been balancing himself on the rail- 
ing of the deck listening for some time but it was 
impossible that he could stay in the one place long 
when the whole boat was crowded with his intimate 
friends. So when J. P. intimated that modem criti- 
cism pointed to two Isaiahs and Jock McPherson 
strongly objected to the second one. Lawyer Ed 
yawned, and telling them he would be back in an in- 
stant, he wandered away. 

“ Come awa, ma braw John Hielanman,” he whis- 
pered to Roderick. “This is a heavy subject for a 
pair of young fellows like you and me on a picnic 
day, come along and see what Archie Blair’s up to. 


330 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


I’ll bet my new bonnet and plume he’s dancing the 
Highland fling in some obscure corner.” 

Roderick went most willingly. He knew Lawyer 
Ed would go straight to Madame, and where Madame 
was, there would she be also. 

Afternoon Tea Willie who had Anally come on board 
with a dozen young ladies, was running here and there 
at their beck and call in desperate haste. Lawyer Ed 
paused to chat with the girls, for he could never pass 
even one, and Roderick turned to Alfred and thanked 
him for the service to his father. 

“ Oh, that’s nothing at all ! ” cried the young man. 
‘‘ You did me a favour lots of times. Rod. When I 
had no one else to talk to and tell my trouble ! ” He 
smiled at the remembrance of them. His cheek was 
flushed and his eyes were glowing. He looked as 
though he possessed some great secret. He came 
close and began to speak hesitatingly and Roderick 
knew he was going to be the recipient of more con- 
fidences. “ Say, Rod, do you see that young lady 
over there beside Anna Baldwin.? ” Roderick looked 
and saw the latest arrival in Algonquin, a very hand- 
some and well-dressed young lady who was visiting 
the Misses Baldwin. Yes,” said Roderick in a very 
callous manner, “ I see her.” He drew Roderick 
away a little distance from the group and whispered : 

“ Well — I — this is in strict confidence, you know, 
Roderick ; I would not confide in any one but you, you 
know. But — well — that is she ! ” 

‘‘ She.? who.? ” asked Roderick, 


“FOLLOW THE GLEAM” 


Alfred looked pained. “ Why the only she in all 
the world for me. Her name is Eveline Allan. Did 
you ever hear anything more musical? She came here 
just last week to visit the Baldwin girls, and they 
asked me to go to the station to meet her with them, 
and the moment I set eyes on her I just knew she was 
the only one in the world for me. I have sometimes 
imagined myself to be in love, but it was all imagina- 
tion. I never really knew before.” 

Roderick found it impossible to conceal a smile. 

“ Oh, I know what you are thinking about, you are 
wondering if I have forgotten Miss Murray. But I 
have lived that down long ago. It was madness for 
me to think of one who was in love with another man.” 

Roderick looked at him so eloquently that he went 
on. 

“ I never really cared for her, in that way, anyway. 
I realise that now, and now that the man she was 
engaged to has come back — ” 

“What?” asked Roderick sharply. 

“ The man she was engaged to. Don’t you re- 
member my telling you about him ? Why, they have 
made up again. He was here to see her last winter 
and he was in Toronto to see her in the Easter holi- 
days when she was down there. I was very glad that 
it has all turned out so, for I found out my mistake 
as soon as I set eyes on Eveline. I know I ought not 
to call her that yet, and I don’t to her of course. 
Don’t you think she has wonderful eyes? I always 
felt that dark eyes are much more expressive than blue 


332 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


or even hazel ones, don’t you? Oh, there is Anna 
calling me. Excuse me, I must run.” 

He flew back to the group, and Roderick was left 
to digest what he had told him. Unfortunately Al- 
fred had a reputation for finding out things and he 
had no reason to doubt his assertion. He slowly fol- 
lowed Lawyer Ed about. They made their way down 
the length of the deck, his chief shaking hands with 
every one, and at last away in the stem under a shady 
awning he saw her. She was seated with Madame 
on one side, little Mrs. Perkins on the other, Gladys 
Hurd and Eddie at her feet, the Perkins’ baby on her 
knee and a crowd of children about her. There was 
no hope of having a word with her even had he the 
courage to go forward and speak to her. 

The children were sitting open mouthed, staring up 
into the face of Mrs. Doasyouwouldbedoneby, while 
in low thrilling tones she was telling how the dread- 
ful big giant came slowly up the stairs, every step 
creaking under him, and the lovely Princess behind the 
door just squeezed herself into a teenty weenty crack 
and held her breath till he got past. 

Lawyer Ed burst into the story with a roar, and 
every one leaped and shrieked as if the giant himself 
had sprung into their midst. He caught two of the 
youngsters and bumped their heads together, he 
chased a shrieking half dozen to a refuge behind a 
pile of life-preservers, he tossed a couple up in the 
air and pretended he was going to fling them over- 
board, and finally he took out a great package from 


“FOLLOW THE GLEAM” 


333 


his pocket and sent a shower of pink “ gum-drops ” 
raining down over the deck, and the whole boat was 
turned into a inad and joyful riot! 

Roderick lingered about for a few minutes until 
Miss Murray nodded and smiled to him across a surg- 
ing sea of little heads, then he wandered down below 
to where the Ancient Mariner was seated spinning 
yams to a crowd of young people. 

“ Indeed and I could tell you many as good a one 
as that,” he was saying in response to the sighs of 
amazement. “ I half a great head for the tales. If 
I would jist be hafing the grammar I would challenge 
anybody to beat me at them. Take Scott now. He 
had the grammar. That’s what makes folk think his 
stories are so great. But if I had j ist had his chance ! 
You get an eddication, you young people. There’s 
nothing like the grammar indeed ! ” 

Roderick leaned over the little pit of the engine 
room and talked with Young Peter. The dull eyes 
were shining. This was a great day for Peter. 

“ Did you see him.? ” he whispered to Roderick. 
“ Did you see my father.? driving down with your 
father.? Jist like any gentleman! Eh, but it was 
mighty.” 

“ Yes, it’s splendid to see them together at last, 
Pete,” said Roderick sympathetically. And then he 
had to listen again to the tale Young Peter never tired 
telling, how Rod’s father had saved his father that 
stormy night on the Jericho Road. How Lawyer Ed 
could not sleep because Roderick had left him, and 


834 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


how he had driven out to the farm in the night to 
comfort Angus and had found the two on the road 
nearly frozen! Young Peter had an attentive 
listener, for Roderick could not tire of hearing the 
wonderful story. 

They had passed through the Gates, and the news 
went around that the Island was near. It was a 
beautiful big stretch of green with a sloping shingly 
beach at one end, and a high range of white cliffs at 
the other, which J. P. Thornton said made him home- 
sick, for they always reminded him of England. 

There were many islands in Lake Algonquin ; never- 
theless when you said The Island every one knew you 
meant that big, lovely, grassy place away out beyond 
the Gates, swept by the cool breezes of Lake Simcoe 
where Algonquin always went for her picnics. 

When the cry went forth that the Island was at hand 
every one ran to the railing and leaned over to watch 
the Inverness slip in between the big stone breakwater 
and the dock which stretched out to meet them. Cap- 
tain Jimmie from his wheel-house called to them, 
threateningly and beseechingly, commanding every 
one to go back or she’d be going over whatever. As 
usual no one heeded him and so the accident happened. 
Perhaps it was the lure of the Piper, now skirling 
madly from the bow, with flying ribbons, that dis- 
tracted the captain, as well as the disobedience of the 
passengers; whatever was the reason, the Inverness, 
generally so stately and staid, suddenly gave a lurch, 
and went crash into the wharf as though she intended 


“FOLLOW THE GLEAM” 


335 


to ride right over the Island. Of course in a tourney 
with the Inverness^ there could be only one result. 
The wharf heaved up and went over like an unhorsed 
knight accompanied by a terrible creaking and rip- 
ping and groaning as of armour being rent asunder. 
Disaster always stripped Captain Jimmie of his 
nautical cloak and left him the true landsman. He 
dashed out of his little house and leaning over the 
railing shouted to the Ancient Mariner : “ Sandy, 

ye gomeril ! Back her up, back up, man, she’s goin’ 
over ! ” 

There were shouts and shrieks from the passengers 
even above the din of the Piper who played gallantly 
on. The crowd rushed to the side to see what had 
happened, and there might have been a real catas- 
trophe had not Lawyer Ed taken command. While 
the captain and the Ancient Mariner were fiercely 
arguing the question of whose fault it was, he dashed 
into the crowd and bade every one in a voice of 
thunder to go back to his or her seats and be quiet. 
Lawyer Ed was a terrifying sight when he was angry, 
and he was promptly obeyed. The excited crowd 
scattered, the children were collected, the alarm sub- 
sided and they all waited laughingly to see what was 
to be done. 

Meantime Dr. Blair and Harry Lauder had 
launched a canoe that was on board and were paddling 
round the wharf to investigate. 

“ I’m afraid it’s hopeless, Jimmie ! ” shouted the 
doctor. For the floor of the landing place had al- 


336 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


most assumed the perpendicular. Nobody could 
land here that wasn’t a chipmunk ! ” 

This was disconcerting news and a wail arose from 
Madame’s flock. 

“Hand yer whist!” roared Lawyer Ed. We’ll 
get to land somehow, if I have to swim to shore with 
you all on my back. Hi 1 ” he gave a shout that made 
the beech woods on the Island ring. 

“ Hi ! Archie, mon ! You and Harry paddle 
over and bring that scow! We’ll load her and go 
ashore hke Robinson Crusoes ! ” 

A big scow or float, used as a rest for row boats 
and canoes lay near the end of the dock moored to 
the shore. A couple of agile young men leaped upon 
the upturned wharf, and making their way on all 
fours along it, they reached the scow in time to assist 
the doctor and Harry Lauder to bring it to the side 
of the boat. Meanwhile Lawyer Ed stood up on 
the deck and roared out superfluous orders in a broad 
Scottish dialect that was rather overdone. 

The rescuing vessel was received with cheers and 
the gang-plank was put in place. 

“Women and children first!” cried Ed heroically, 
but Madame, in the centre of her flock called out an 
indignant refusal. 

“ No, indeed, the children are not going first. 
You, Johnnie Pickett and Jimmie Hurd, you come 
right back off that thing, do you hear me? You go 
along yourself some of you Scotchmen, and see if it 
will hold, and then I’ll bring my babies. You’re in 


“FOLLOW THE GLEAM” 337 

your bathing suits anyway,” she added cruelly, for 
Mrs. Doasyouwouldbedoneby was not a Scotchwoman, 
and did not know how to appreciate the kilts. 

So the Piper marched out upon the scow, playing 
magnificently ; some dozen young men followed 
him and with poles pushed themselves ashore. Then, 
amid cheers a couple of volunteers came back for an- 
other load from the wrecked vessel. When several 
trips had been made successfully and Madame and the 
children had been safely landed, Alfred Wilbur came 
forward and offered to pole a crowd over. Of course 
the crowd consisted of young ladies with the Baldwin 
girls and their pretty guest as the centre piece. 

Alfred placed himself upon the scow, pole in hand 
and with many gallant remarks from Lawyer Ed the 
young ladies were handed on board. One by one 
they tripped out over the gang-plank, laughing gaily, 
their muslins and ribbons, their sashes and bracelets, 
their pink cheeks and bright eyes transforming the 
old scow into a floating garden. No wonder Alfred 
became excited over captaining such a fair cargo. In 
his nervous zeal he encouraged more than his sailing 
capacity would admit, and when the scow was almost 
crowded he saw to his dismay that the Baldwin girls 
and their guest had not yet come on board. He had 
pictured himself, pole in hand, shoving off before all 
the picnickers with Miss Allan clinging to his arm, 
and he began to grow anxious lest she be carried off in 
one of the row boats now come to the rescue. 

“ Move over further, won’t you, girls, please,” he 


338 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


called to his laughing, chattering crew. ‘‘ I mean 
move a little aft won’t you, please. I beg your par- 
don for troubling you, Belle! Alice! If you and 
Flossie — Come, Anna. Come, Louise ! Anna, bring 
Miss Allan ; there’s acres of room yet.” 

Thus encouraged, another group tripped over the 
gang-plank and at the same moment, those already 
on board, anxious to oblige Alf, who was always 
obliging them, crowded over to the farther side. 
But so much weight suddenly placed on one end of 
the scow brought dire disaster. Without a moment’s 
warning, down went the heavy end three feet into the 
water, half submerging its shrieking passengers, and 
up came the light end with the unfortunate pilot 
perched upon it like Hiawatha’s Adjidaumo, on the 
end of his Cheemaun ! 

Fortunately the water was not deep, and in a mo- 
ment a dozen young men had plunged in and righted 
the capsized craft. But there were shrieks from all 
sides and threats of fainting, and dreadful anathemas 
heaped upon the innocent cause of the disaster, as 
the bedraggled young ladies, lately so trim, crawled 
back to the Inverness, 

The catastrophe could not possibly have happened 
to any one whom it would distress more than Alf. He 
stood in speechless dismay watching the dripping pro- 
cession pass. And when the pretty guest of the 
Baldwin girls splashed past him with a look which 
would have been withering had she not been so 
drenched, his despair was complete. He looked for 


“FOLLOW THE GLEAM” 


339 


a few moments as if he were about to throw himself 
into the lake, then he flung down his pole, and crept 
away aft to hide his diminished head behind a pile of 
life-preservers. Roderick captured a row-boat, and 
placed his father and Old Peter and a couple of their 
friends in it, and with the huge basket Aunt Kirsty 
had packed for them he rowed to shore. 

When they landed, the old men seated themselves 
on a grassy mound under a big elm, and the basket 
was snatched from Roderick’s hand and whirled away 
to the commissariat department in a big pavilion near 
at hand. 

In a short time the long white tables were set be- 
neath the trees with a musical tinkling of cups ; there 
was a table for the Sons themselves and their friends, 
a table for the commoner folk and, farther up the 
shore, here and there, little groups of friends gathered 
by themselves. There was Madame seated on the 
ground away off at the edge of the beech grove, like 
the queen of the fairies holding court. The fairies 
were all there, too, seated in a wide circle, too busy to 
talk, as the sandwiches and cake and pie disappeared. 
Roderick had not once lost sight of Helen. She was 
there too, with Mrs. Perkins and Gladys. But he 
had to turn his back on the pretty group and join his 
father at the table spread for the Sons of Scotland. 
Dr. Leslie stood up at the head of it, his white hair 
rufiled by the lake breeze, and asked a blessing on the 
feast. And when the Scotchmen had put on their 
bonnets again and were seated the Piper tuned up 


340 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


once more and swept around the tables playing a fine 
strathspey. Lawyer Ed had a seat near the head of 
the table but he was too happy to sit still and kept 
it only at intervals. He ran up and down the tables, 
darted away to this group and that, taking a bite here 
and a drink there, until Dr. Blair declared that Ed 
had eaten seven different and separate meals by the 
time the tables were cleared away. 

He stopped at a little group seated around a white 
table cloth laid upon the grass, to inquire if they 
would like some more hot water. 

“ No,” said Mrs. Captain Willoughby, whose party 
it was. “ WeVe plenty. We’ve been in hot water, 
in fact, ever since we started. Annabel and I are 
having a dispute we want settled. Come here, Ed- 
ward, I’m sure you can decide.” 

“ It’s perfect nonsense,” broke in Miss Annabel. 
“ Leslie is no more likely to marry him than you are, 
Margaret ! ” 

Marry whom? ” asked Lawyer Ed eagerly, 
“Me?” 

Miss Annabel screamed and said he was perfectly 
dreadful, but Mrs. Willoughby broke in. 

“ No, not you, you conceited thing, but your part- 
ner. I thought Leslie claimed him as her property. 
She practically told the Baldwin girls she intended’ 
to marry Roderick McRae. And now she’s left him 
and gone off to be a nurse.” 

Miss Annabel’s fair face flushed hotly. “ How 
utterly preposterous. Why, if you lived at Rose- 


‘^FOLLOW THE GLEAM” 


341 


mount you’d know whom Mr. McRae would be likely 
to marry. As for Leslie, she never cared any more 
for him than you did. You know how she loves fun. 
She was just enjoying herself. I admit that she 
might have found a better way of putting in the time, 
but it was only a girl’s nonsense. I was just dread- 
ful that way myself when I was Leslie’s age, a few 
years ago.” 

“ Indeed you were, Annabel,” cried Lawyer Ed, 
scenting danger and wisely steering to a safer sub- 
ject. “You were a dreadful flirt. Many a heart 
you broke and I am afraid you haven’t reformed 
either.” 

This put the lady into a good humour at once. She 
laughed gaily, confessing that she was really awfully 
giddy she knew, but she could not help it. And Mrs. 
Captain Willoughby, who never encouraged Miss 
Annabel in her youthfulness, said very dryly that 
she supposed they had all been silly when they were 
girls but she believed there was a time for every- 
thing. 

Lawyer Ed saw conversational rocks ahead once 
more and piloted around them. “ What is this I 
hear about Leslie ? ” he asked. “ Is she going to be 
a nurse ? ” 

“ Oh, dear,” groaned Miss Annabel. “ That girl 
will break her mother’s heart, and all our hearts. 
Just think of Leslie who never did a thing harder 
than put up her own hair going to be a nurse. It is 
perfectly absurd, but she has gone and Elizabeth will 


342 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


just have to let her go on until experience teaches 
her better.’’ 

“ I think it’s the most sensible thing she ever did,” 
declared Mrs. Willoughby, ‘‘ and you shouldn’t dis- 
courage her. She’ll make a fine wife for that boy 
of yours, Edward.” 

Lawyer Ed shook his head. He had had his own 
shrewd suspicions regarding Roderick for some time 
and Miss Annabel’s hint had set him thinking. 

I’ve been such a conspicuous failure in any at- 
tempt to get a wife of my own,” he said in the deepest 
melancholy, that I wouldn’t presume to prescribe 
for any other man.” And he hastened back to his 
own table. 

It was a great day. The Scotchmen ran races, and 
tossed the caber and walked the greasy pole across 
from the capsized dock to the Imoemess. The Piper 
played, and the band played, and everybody ate all 
the ice cream and popcorn and drank all the lemonade 
possible. 

At exactly seven o’clock the Inverness gsive a ter- 
rible roar. This was to warn every one that going 
home time had arrived. Mrs. Doasyouwouldbedoneby 
began collecting the fairies for the difficult task of 
getting them on the scow and thence to the Inverness. 
All day Lawyer Ed had been keeping an eye on Rod- 
erick and had no difficulty in confirming his suspicion 
that the Lad was unhappy, and he immediately con- 
ceived of a plan to help him. He called a half-dozen 
young men together and just as Madame was ready 


‘‘FOLLOW THE GLEAM” 34f3 

to walk across the Island to the scow, Lawyer Ed 
came rowing round the bend with a fleet of boats to 
carry them all down to the Inverness. Then such a 
joyful scrambling and climbing as there was, while 
Mrs. Doasyouwouldbedoneby got her water-babies 
afloat. Lawyer Ed had seen to it that Roderick was 
in charge of the one canoe, and as a row-boat in the 
eyes of Algonquin youths, was a thing to be despised, 
all the older water-babies screamed with joy at the 
sight of him, and as soon as he had run it up on the 
sand they swarmed into it filling it to overflowing. 

This was hkely to ruin all Lawyer Ed’s fine plan 
and he charged down upon them with a terrible roar 
and chased them all to the shelter of Madame’s skirts. 

“ Get away back there, you young rascals ! ” he 
shouted. “ You ought to know better than to try a 
load like that. Rod, you simpleton. Two passengers 
at the most are all you want with that arm of yours ! ” 
He glanced about him. Helen Murray was standing 
near with the Perkins baby in her arms, while the little 
mother, free from all care for the first time in many 
hard years, was wandering happily about with her 
hands full of wild roses. 

“ Here, Miss Murray,” he cried, “ you jump in. 
You are just the right weight for this maimed pilot. 
’Ere, William ’Enry, you come to me ! ” But Wil- 
liam Henry, now a sturdy little fellow of a-year-and- 
a-half, tightened his arms around his friend’s neck 
and yelled his disapproval right valiantly. 

“ Well, now, will yer look at that ! ” cried the little 


344i THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


mother proudly. ‘‘ Wot’ll Daddy say w’en I tell ’im? 
The little rascal’s so took with the young loidy. 
’Ush up there now, bless ’is ’eart. See, ’e’ll go with 
mammy.” She dropped her roses into Gladys’s hands, 
and held out her arms, and the fickle young gentle- 
man, let go his grip on his friend, and leaped upon his 
mother, crowing and squealing with delight. Helen 
waved him farewell as she stepped into the canoe, and 
the baby waved her a fat square paw in return. 
Gladys and Eddie were about to follow her, when the 
Lawyer Ed again interposed. 

“ No, you mustn’t take a load. Rod, this is your 
first paddle, so get away with you. Now you kids, hop 
into this boat and you’ll be there just as soon as 
Miss Murray ! ” he roared. Roderick pushed off 
afraid to look at his chief lest the overwhelming grati- 
tude he felt might be seen in his face. 

Lawyer Ed turned and watched them for a moment. 
They made a fine picture as they glided up the curving 
shore under the drooping birches and alders. Rod- 
erick kneeling in the stem, straight and strong, with 
no sign now of the illness he had been through, and 
the girl in the bow, her blue gown and her uncovered 
golden head making a bit of colouring perfectly har- 
monious with the sparkling waves and the sunlit sands. 

But Lawyer Ed’s gaze was fixed on Roderick. The 
joy in the Lad’s eyes, answered in his own. Lawyer 
Ed’s joys were all of the vicarious sort. He was 
always happy because he made other people so, but 


345 


“FOLLOW THE GLEAM” 
to be able to make Rod happy ; that was his crowning 

joy. 

Roderick was more afraid than happy. It seemed 
too good to be true, that she was here with him alone. 
At first he could do nothing but look at her in silence. 
She was so much more beautiful than he had thought, 
with that new radiance in her eyes. And then his 
own brief happiness waned, as he wondered miserably 
if it had been brought there by Dick Wells. 

She was the first to speak. “ Are you getting quite 
strong again.? ” she asked kindly. 

“ Oh yes, I am quite myself. I feel ready for any 
kind of work now.” 

“ Then I suppose you will be going back to Mon- 
treal.? ” 

“ No.” Roderick had made that decision long ago. 
“ No, I could not go with the firm that engaged me — ■ 
now.” He was thinking how impossible those mining 
deals( would be in the eyes of one who had been 
granted a glimpse into the unseen. Henceforth he 
knew there was no such work for him. “For mine 
eyes hath seen the King,” he often repeated to him- 
self. 

She misunderstood him. “ Oh,” she said, “ I 
thought — I was told that Mr. Graham’s lawyers 
wanted you, that the position had been kept for 
you.” 

“ Yes, they were very kind, but I could not. 
Something happened that made it impossible for me 


S46 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


to take up their work again. So for the present I 
am a fixture in Algonquin, until Lawyer Ed grows 
tired of me.” 

She laughed at that, for Lawyer Ed’s love for Rod- 
erick was a proverb in Algonquin. He had never 
heard her laugh before. The sound was very musical. 

You will stay a long time then,” she said. “ Al- 
gonquin is a good place to live in.” 

“ You like it.^^ ” he asked eagerly. 

‘‘ Yes, ever so much. I shall be sorry to leave at 
the mid-summer vacation.” 

Roderick’s heart stood still. “ I — I didn’t know,” 
he faltered. “ I thought you were staying for the 
whole year.” 

She looked up at him, and then her eyes fell. The 
mingled adoration and hunger and dismay written 
plainly in the Lad’s frank eyes were impossible to mis- 
understand. She had seen that look there before many 
times in the past winter. She had been afraid of it 
then, and she had run away from his good-bye that 
snowy day when he had left Algonquin. For then 
she had not wanted to see that look in the eyes of any 
man. She had seen it once before and had yielded 
to its spell, and the love-light had died out and left 
her life desolate. But since she had last talked with 
Roderick McRae, she had seen those eyes again, lit 
with the old love, and to her amazement she had found 
no answer in her heart. She had far outgrown Dick 
Wells in her self-forgetful life she had taken up in 
Algonquin. She had taken up the burdens of others 


“FOLLOW THE GLEAM” 


347 


just to ease her own pain, promising herself that when 
this or that task was finished she could turn to her 
own grief and nurse it. But the self-indulgence had 
been so long postponed that when the opportunity 
came and she had gone back to her old sorrow, behold 
it was gone. And in its place sat the memory of Rod- 
erick McRae’s unspoken devotion, his chivalrous silent 
waiting for his opportunity. 

So when poor Roderick all unschooled in hiding his 
feelings let her see in one swift glance all that her 
going meant to him she was speechless before the joy 
of it. She stooped and trailed her fingers in the green 
water, to hide her happy confusion. Then remem- 
bering she was leaving him under a misunderstanding 
she glanced up at him swiftly. 

“ I don’t,” she said breathlessly, “ I didn’t mean I 
was going away to stay. I meant only for the sum- 
mer holidays.” 

The transformation of his countenance was a fur- 
ther revelation, had she needed any. 

“ Oh,” he said, and then paused. “ Oh, I’m so 
glad!” Very simple words but they contained vol- 
umes. He was silent for a moment unable to say any 
more, and she filled in the awkward pause nervously, 
scarcely knowing what she said. 

“ You were sorry too, were you not, when you went 
away.f^ ” 

“ It was the hardest task I ever met in my life,” 
said Roderick. “And you didn’t let me say good- 
bye to you.” He was growing quite reckless now to 


348 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


speak thus to a young lady who might be going to 
announce her engagement. 

She had not gained anything by her headlong 
plunge into conversation so she tried again. 

‘‘Not even your operation.^” she asked. “That 
was worse, wasn’t it? ” 

“ My operation wasn’t hard,” said Roderick dream- 
ily, his mind going back to the sacred wonder of that 
hour. “No, I had — help.” He said it hesitatingly. 
It was hard to mention that event, even to her. 
He had spoken of it to no living person but his father. 

“ Indeed, I heard about how brave you were,” she 
said, “ I was told that there was never any one with 
such self-control.” 

Roderick looked at her in alarm. “ Who told 
you ? ” he asked abruptly. She looked straight across 
at him and her eyes were very steady, though her 
colour rose. “ Doctor Wells told me. He assisted, 
didn’t he ? ” 

Roderick’s eyes fell. He tried to answer but he sat 
before her dumb and dismayed. She saw his con- 
fusion, and rightly guessed the cause. Her nature 
was too simple and direct to pretend, she wanted to 
tell him the truth and she did not know how. 

“ Doctor Wells was here last winter,” she faltered, 
as a beginning, then could get no further. Roderick 
made a desperate effort to regain control of himself, 
and spoke with an attempt at nonchalance. 

“ Yes, he told me he was coming. He promised to 
come and see me too, but he didn’t.” 


‘‘FOLLOW THE GLEAM” 


349 


“ No,” she caught a twig of cedar from a branch 
that brushed her fragrantly as she passed. Her fin- 
gers trembled as she held it to her lips. “ He — he 
told you he was coming.? ” she asked. 

“ Yes,” said poor Roderick briefly. 

“ Then — then, perhaps he told you why.? ” She 
was examining the cedar sprig carefully, and Roder- 
ick was thankful. He would not have cared for her 
to see his face just then. She was going to tell him 
of her renewed engagement he knew. 

“ Yes, he told me,” he said. She was silent for a 
little, looking away over the ripples of Lake Simcoe 
to the green arms of the channel that showed the way 
to Algonquin. 

“ Would it — would you think it right to tell me 
what he said.? ” 

“ He said,” repeated Roderick, wishing miserably 
that Wells’ words did him less credit, “ he said that 
even if a fellow played the fool once in his life that 
was no reason why he should take it up as a life’s 
profession.” He paused and then came out in the 
boldness of desperation with the rest. “ And he said 
that he was pretty sure he would get a welcome when 
he came.” She flushed at that, and there came a 
proud sparkle into her eyes. 

She sat erect and looked Roderick straight in the 
eyes. “ And now, since you have told me, — and I 
thank you for it, — I must give you his message. He 
left one for you.” 

“Yes.?” Roderick braced himself as for a blow. 


350 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


“ Yes, he left a message for you. I did not intend 
to deliver it but since he confided in you I feel I am 
doing no harm. He said to tell you the reason he 
couldn’t wait to see you was that he had played the 
fool once more, and that was when he thought a woman 
couldn’t forget.” 

She dropped her eyes when she had finished. Her 
fine courage was gone. She dipped one trembling hand 
into the water again and laid it against her hot cheek. 

Roderick sat and looked at her for a moment un- 
comprehending. It took some time to grasp all that 
her confession meant. When finally its meaning 
dawned upon him, he drew in a great breath. 

“ Oh ! ” he said in a wondering whisper. “ I never 
was so happy in my life ! ” It was not a very elo- 
quent speech, it did not seem at all relevant, but she 
seemed to understand. She glanced up for an instant 
with a shy smile, and then Lawyer Ed with Mrs. Do- 
asyouwouldbedoneby and such a load of water-babies, 
that they looked as if they might sink into their native 
caves, came shouting round the point, and bore down 
upon them. 

The sun was sinking into the island maze of Lake 
Algonquin and the moon was coming up out of Lake 
Simcoe when the Inverness sailed homeward through 
the Gates. The little breeze that had danced all day 
out on the larger lake had gone to sleep here in the 
shelter of the islands, and Algonquin lay as still as a 
golden mirror. A faint shimmer of colour was spread 
over it like a shining veil. It was scarcely discern- 


“FOLLOW THE GLEAM’’ 


351 


ible where the crystal water lay motionless, but as 
the Inmrness sailed across the delicate web it broke 
into waves of amber and lilac and rose. The little 
islands did not seem to touch the water but floated in 
the air like dream-islands, deep purple and bronze in 
the shadows. From their depths arose vesper songs. 
Bob White’s silver whistle, clear and sweet, the White 
throat’s long call of “ Canada, Canada, Canada,” as 
though the little patriot could never tell all his love 
and joy in his beautiful home, the loon’s eery laugh 
far away down the golden channel, and the whippoor- 
will and the cat-bird and the veery in the tree-tops. 
It was a wonderful night. 

As the sunset colours grew fainter, and the moon’s 
silver brightened, the passengers became quieter. 
The Piper went below and listened to the Ancient 
Mariner spin a yam, and let the birds along the shore 
furnish music. The babies fell asleep in the arms of 
Mrs. Doasyouwouldbedoneby, lovers drifted away in 
pairs to retired nooks. In a quiet comer J. P. 
Thornton and Lawyer Ed sat and laid once more their 
final plans for a trip to the Holy Land, certain this 
time of their realisation. The older people sat by 
the wheel house and talked of their younger days. 
Roderick left his father the centre of the group, 
and went in search of Helen. He found her sitting in 
a sheltered nook with Gladys. The Perkins baby had 
fallen asleep in her arms, and as Roderick approached 
the younger girl lifted the baby to carry him to his 
mother. He slipped into her seat by Helen’s side. 


S52 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 


She smiled at him. It seemed quite natural and right 
that he should take that place without asking per- 
mission. 

They leaned over the railing, the brightness of the 
sunset reflected in their faces and talked of many 
things, of the first time he had seen her here on the 
Inverness y of his hopes and ambitions for a career of 
greatness, as he had counted greatness, of his chasing 
the shifting rainbow gold, until a Voice had said 

Thus far shalt thou go.” He even hinted at the Vi- 
sion that had come to him when he went down into the 
Valley named of the Shadow, and of how he knew now 
the value of that real gold at the end of life’s rainbow. 
And she told him how she too had found her rainbow 
gold. Its gleam had led her through storms and 
lonely journeyings, but she had followed, and she had 
found it at last, found it in the new light of hope that 
had awakened in many dull eyes in WiUow Lane, 

They were silent then, there was no more to be said. 
For the story of each had been the story of the 
journey that ended in their meeting. Henceforth, for 
them, there would be one gleam, and they would fol- 
low it together. 

They had been slipping past the shadow of Wanda 
Island and now came out once more into the gold of 
the sunlight. Algonquin lay before them buried in 
purpling woods. Away above the little town, beyond 
the circling forest, and beyond the hills shone the last 
gleam of the day. The Inverness was going straight 
up the track of the Sun. 


4 


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